That's a Sneaky Way to Propose
by blackangus
Summary: Pete once told his dad that he and Edie knew where they belonged, knew where they were going and would know when they got there. They've finally arrived at that place in their own way and time. This story takes place near the end of Season 3 between "Deadly Intrusion" (S3 EP35) and "Voodoo" (S3 EP36) and features all the regular characters and a few originals.
1. The End in the Beginning

**Peter Gunn, Edie Hart and other characters from the original "Peter Gunn" TV series unfortunately don't belong to me, nor do I make any financial gain from this story. But that doesn't mean I can't play with the characters and make them do what I want them to do. Most of the time. If I ask nicely. Actually, they usually just do what they want and rarely listen to me.**

 _Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read my stories. I hope you enjoy this one. Feedback is always appreciated but never required. Thanks especially to Melchy, my partner in crime, who has and will contribute to this story whether she's aware of it or not!_

 **That's a Sneaky Way to Propose**

 **Chapter 1: The End in the Beginning**

Lieutenant Jacoby stepped through the door of _Edie's_ , his dark eyes quickly scanning the club in search of Peter Gunn. A couple members of the combo were playing around with a snazzy rendition of some tune the cop recognized but couldn't put a name to and didn't have time to think about. He had discovered some disturbing new evidence in a certain extortion case and wanted Pete to talk to a few of his unsavory contacts to help him get a lead on a suspect.

The policeman peered toward the bar but only O'Brien was in attendance there, drying wine glasses with a fluffy white towel and placing them neatly upon a shelf. The PI's pretty girlfriend didn't appear to be around, which meant Pete most likely wasn't either, the two tending to be where each other were when they weren't where you expected them to be. Maybe the couple was outside on the veranda or down the hall in Edie Hart's dressing room. He disliked the thought of interrupting them in either place. He'd been embarrassed on more than one occasion over the past several years by walking in on a private moment out behind _Mother's_ and he'd never even considered encroaching on the woman's personal space, especially here at her own supper club. Why couldn't they keep their billing and cooing at home where it belonged?

Jacoby's gaze finally found its way to the near side of the large dining room and settled upon Leslie, the tall, dark-haired maitre d' who had found a home at _Edie's_ after his own restaurant had been blown to kingdom come by mobsters. Life was funny sometimes, the cop decided, watching the man's arms dance around and his head tilt this way and that as he made motions toward the far wall, as though he was conducting an unseen orchestra. The Lieutenant followed the action with a glance, finally noticing Leslie was directing piano player Emmett Ward and dark-haired head waitress Betty Kendrick in positioning a large red and white banner high up where it would be seen by everyone entering the supper club.

 _Congratulations Pete and Edie_ the sign said, the red letters big and bold.

Jacoby raised an eyebrow and looked at the maitre d', impeccably dressed in a black suit and tie and sporting a fresh white carnation on his left lapel. The policeman reached up and removed his hat as he walked over to speak to Leslie, then looked down at his own brown suit and decided he looked a tad rumpled and plain compared to the man standing beside him. He straightened his spine and stood a little taller and ran his palm along his tie to straighten it, trying to be unobtrusive as he did those things but all too aware the other man would notice anyway.

"What's going on? You guys win restaurant of the year?" He offered a cynical smile that slowly faded as Leslie awarded him with an amused stare, brown eyes twinkling with an impertinent brand of humor from beneath arched brows.

"Close but unfortunately no cigar, Lieutenant Jacoby." Leslie motioned for Emmett to raise his side of the over-sized banner, eliciting a wry smile and a roll of blue eyes from the boyishly good looking musician as the maitre d' nodded his final approval.

"So what's the occasion?"

A mysterious smile found its way to Leslie's lips and his facial expression could only be described as smug as he returned his attention to the policeman. _I know something you don't know, I know something you don't know_ his eyes seemed to sing.

"I received an utterly fascinating telephone call late Friday evening."

He paused and thanked Emmett and Betty as they approached, the musician coming to stand next to Jacoby, pulling down the sleeves of his white shirt and buttoning the cuffs before folding his arms across his chest and pretending to examine his handiwork with the banner. Betty was quickly joined by Wendy Iverson and Marge Meadows, the other two waitresses who had come to _Edie's_ from _Mother's_ , and the three began to pull the white covers from the dining tables and replace them with casual red and white checked cloths reminiscent of the club where they'd formerly worked.

"Go on," Jacoby finally said, growing tired of the lengthening silence when Leslie didn't continue and at the same time wondering why he was interested in the other man's weird phone conversations.

"Mrs. Hart called..." Leslie tipped his head toward Jacoby, giving him a look from the corner of his eye while simultaneously keeping watch on the activity going on around them. " _Miss_ Hart's mother," he clarified in his well-modulated voice.

"I figured that one out all by myself." Jacoby's tone was soft and vaguely sarcastic, his brown eyes curious as he watched the almost frenetic activity going on around him. "I may be a beady-eyed cop but I'm not a _dumb_ beady-eyed cop." His gaze landed back on the unperturbed face of the maitre d'.

Leslie allowed the lawman's acerbic comment to slip past unheeded and Emmett reached a hand up to run his fingers through short cropped dark blond hair, his amused blue eyes looking everywhere but at Jacoby.

"Evidently she was unable to get in contact with Miss Hart. There was no answer at her apartment, which was nothing new. _Her_ words, not mine." The maitre d' gave Jacoby a cheeky sideways glance then sighed and shook his head dolefully. "I fail to understand Mrs. Hart's reasoning for continuing up that slippery slope. Miss Hart hasn't occupied that apartment for well over a year and Miss Martel dropped her sublet and moved out two weeks ago. Naturally no one answered the telephone. Neither did Mr. Gunn answer his phone when she very reluctantly called _him_. Again, her words."

"Leslie..." Jacoby silently counted to ten. It was early in the day for him. He shouldn't be at work yet, he should still be at home with his wife and kids, yet here he was chasing around looking for Pete and having to listen to an inane conversation that seemed to contain no rhyme or reason.

"The poor woman is living in a fool's paradise. She's smitten with the irrational delusion that what she knows is going on isn't actually going on." Leslie's tall forehead creased in a perplexed frown. "There's undoubtedly a psychiatric term for that."

"...do you happen to know where I can find Mr. Gunn?"

"Not precisely."

"What does that mean?"

"If you would listen as I try to explain instead of continually interrupting–" Leslie gave the policeman a dark look and sighed as Emmett snickered, "–you would most assuredly see the light, Lieutenant."

"Fine." Jacoby made a surrendering motion with the hat in his hand. "Continue."

"Since she couldn't locate her daughter at either apartment she called here looking for her. I informed her that Miss Hart wasn't here and that I didn't expect to see her until at least the first of the week but I would be more than happy to take a message in case she happened to call. Then she asked me if it was true."

Leslie exchanged an amused glance with Emmett over Jacoby's right shoulder, watching the blond musician bring a hand up to cover the smirk he couldn't contain.

"I don't think I understand." The policeman's already threadbare patience was beginning to wear even thinner.

"Mrs. Hart asked me if it was _true_." Leslie made a face indicating he'd been confused by his caller's question. "When I told her that I had no idea what she was talking about she asked was it really true that her daughter had married _that_ _man_? I must admit to being at somewhat of a loss for a brief moment." His lips curled in what might have passed for a grimace. "But I was quite intrigued. I decided to attempt to pry as much information as I could from her without being too obvious about it. I informed her that it wasn't my place to spread gossip or hearsay. That Miss Hart, being my employer, would be quite put out if I did such a thing and I could only imagine what Mr. Gunn, also being my employer, might do to me." Leslie paused reflectively. "I don't believe it ever crossed her mind that Miss Hart and Mr. Gunn own this establishment together."

Jacoby was very obviously nonplussed at the surprising words from the maitre d'. For a brief moment he was hit by the disconcerting sensation that someone was playing a joke and he was the butt of it. But Leslie wasn't a prankster.

"Let me get this straight," he eventually said, the soft words sounding forced. "Mrs. Hart asked you if her daughter and Mr. Gunn were married? Whatever gave her that idea?"

"I asked her that very question, Lieutenant."

Again silence.

"And?" The policeman was beyond exasperated.

"She informed me that she and Mr. Hart received a telegram late Friday afternoon, along with an extremely large bouquet of flowers and a box of cigars. She read the telegram to me over the telephone, the salient points anyway." Leslie folded his arms and put his left index finger to his chin and thoughtfully raised his eyes to the ceiling. " _Married... hope we have your best wishes... will call in a few days... etcetera, etcetera... Pete and Edie_." Lowering his gaze to Jacoby, he clasped his hands behind his back and offered another of his cheeky glances, dimples scarring his cheeks as he smiled with unbridled humor. "I find it quite amusing that they put _his_ name first on a telegram to _her_ parents."

The Lieutenant stared at the maitre d' and slowly shook his head, an expression of dour disgust mixed with annoyed resignation crowding his dark brown eyes.

"Why am I always the last one to find out these things?"

His tone was softly pleasant but his gaze said otherwise. He hadn't found out about his friend Peter Gunn's relationship with his girl singer until three months after they'd begun seeing each other, long after everyone else was clued in. Two weeks had gone by before he'd been made aware of the couple's short-lived breakup of two summers ago. And he hadn't known the two were sharing Pete's apartment until at least a month after the fact. Of course when one took into account that the woman was almost always there anyway it made that last one easier to stomach- er, explain, than the others.

Jacoby slapped his hat hard against his thigh then brought it to his head, giving the brim a couple of agitated tweaks to settle it firmly upon his balding pate. He turned to leave, taking a few steps toward the door before turning back around to face the other two men again.

"Did Mrs. Hart happen to mention from where the telegram was sent?"

Leslie promptly answered the policeman's question almost as if he knew it was coming, the name of a mid-size town about a two hour drive away in a neighboring state rolling blithely off his well-educated tongue. Folding his arms across his chest, he allowed a soft smile to turn the corners of his mouth as he rocked back on his heels and stared serenely at the banner hanging upon the wall across the room.

"The perfect destination for lovers in love." He cocked his head toward Jacoby and gave a knowing lift of dark eyebrows. "It would seem quite obvious that our enamored moth and his equally besotted little flame meandered across the state line, secured a marriage license and paid a perfunctory visit to a justice of the peace. There's a waiting period of twenty-four hours after acquiring a license before a marriage can take place in said state, which would most likely explain why they didn't return home until today."

Jacoby gave him a blank stare.

"Weekend honeymoon," Leslie explained with a knowing smile. "Short but sweet, one might say."

"Kind of late in the game if you ask me," Jacoby muttered with a roll of his eyes. "And how do you always know these things?" he grumped in annoyance.

The maitre d' gave the cop a blandly amused look.

"Let's just say our Mr. Gunn isn't the only man in town who cultivates _friendships_." His raised fingers gave quote marks to that last word. "Upon garnering the information from Mrs. Hart pertaining to when and where, I simply placed a call to a locally well-known purveyor of wedded bliss and asked about the rules of marriage in such circumstances."

Leslie looked quite pleased with himself, the expression of delight on his face bringing an irate frown to that of the policeman. Jacoby glanced back up at the banner hanging from the ceiling, his lips pressing into a firm line as he pointed a rigid forefinger at the celebratory red words dangling for all to see.

"I sincerely hope Mrs. Hart has all her facts straight," he ground out. "Because if she's wrong and they walk in here and see this sign and – " He waved his arm distractedly to the hubbub that was going on around them, "– I don't think you'll have to _imagine_ what Pete will do to you! There will be a chalk outline of your dead body on this very floor and I'll be here investigating your untimely death!"


	2. Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow

**Peter Gunn, Edie Hart and other characters from the original "Peter Gunn" TV series unfortunately don't belong to me, nor do I make any financial gain from this story. But that doesn't mean I can't play with the characters and make them do what I want them to do. Most of the time. If I ask nicely. Actually, the usually just do what they want and rarely listen to me.**

 _Thanks to those who've read or reviewed and have come back to me with questions or comments. I appreciate the feedback. Thanks especially to Melchy, who has the patience to provide answers to questions when I really can't explain why I'm asking them!_

 **That's a Sneaky Way to Propose**

 **Chapter 2: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow**

Edie Hart smiled graciously as she extended a pleasant goodnight to the attractive young couple who'd been celebrating the woman's birthday with an evening of fine dining and dancing at the supper club. She sighed and glanced at Leslie, watching in amusement as the maitre d' bestowed his own knowing smile upon the couple and held the door for them while simultaneously slipping menus to a silver-haired gentleman and his wife as they entered. _Edie's_ was especially busy on this evening, giving the entrepreneurial girl singer very little time to dwell on her own problems, though the sight of the young man and woman enjoying their night out had brought them to the forefront.

She hadn't laid eyes on Pete since very early the previous evening, just after the club had opened, and she was worried. She didn't know exactly _why_ she should be worried, since what happened had been entirely the man's fault, but her mind kept straying to him and where he could be and whether perhaps she could have handled the situation better. She was fairly certain she could have, had to admit it to herself even though she didn't want to. But she'd been irritated and annoyed and yes, just that little bit jealous, when she saw a woman, and a gorgeous one at that, slather the kind of kiss this woman had slathered on Pete, with him seemingly putting up little resistance. Her Irish dander had been raised and she had reacted accordingly. She had even seen Leslie give Pete the stink-eye as she had brushed past the maitre d' and headed for her dressing room.

Several minutes later she had heard Pete grab and turn the door knob only to come to an abrupt halt against the door when he found himself locked out. Then he had knocked and said her name. When she declined to answer he'd wiggled the door knob.

" _Come on, Edie. Open the door." His exasperated sigh was audible through the barrier separating them before his knuckles rapped gently a second time. "I'd really rather not have this conversation standing out in the hall." His voice lowered a notch. "Jean Paul is glaring at me from the kitchen doorway and he has a boning knife in his hand."_

 _Was that a hint of teasing in his voice? Grrr. He certainly wasn't taking this as seriously as she was. And as he should be. The man could frustrate her beyond reason sometimes. Which only added to her aggravation of the moment. She unlocked the door and pulled it open a crack and peered out at him._

" _You should have thought of all that before you kissed that, that-"_

" _Edie!" Her name passed his lips in a tone of restrained impatience. And yes, there was definitely an edge of humor coloring his voice and a soft amusement danced in the deep blue of his eyes. "She was the only one doing any kissing. And I very properly turned my cheek."_

" _That's not what it looked like to me!"_

" _Well maybe if you'd stuck around longer it would have become obvious." Obvious like the frustration in his voice, he thought. But when did hearing that ever stop the woman? Usually it did just the opposite because she knew she'd gotten a reaction out of him. And wasn't that one of the wonderful things he loved about their relationship? That mingling of gorgeous chaos and confusion she brought into his life was something he would never be able to live without now that he'd been given a taste of it._

" _And exactly how many kisses should I have stayed around for?" She was aggravated and she was jealous. Deep inside she knew she shouldn't be, but she just couldn't help herself. She couldn't get that woman and that kiss out of her mind. And naturally it only spurred her on when she should have been smart enough to quit. "Or maybe I should have waited until it progressed a little further than that?"_

 _Edie snapped the door shut again but didn't lock it this time, just leaned back against it with her arms crossed. She knew Pete could have easily pushed past her while the door had been open and would have no trouble getting around the lock if he was so inclined. Peter Gunn was very good with locks. She almost had to smile but fought the urge with all due diligence._

 _The PI's lips compressed as he attempted to control his own smile. It had been a while since Edie Hart's green-eyed monster had shown itself to this degree. He missed those little outbursts of insecurity when they didn't occur on a regular basis, something he'd never tell her but which he figured she probably knew anyway. A quick calculation told him the last time she'd been this irate with him had been about six months earlier but for an entirely different reason. She'd come home to lamps shattered on the floor and bullet holes in the walls and he'd had to explain how and why Lieutenant Jacoby had ended up killing three goons in the living room._

" _Edie..." If there was the hint of a chuckle in his voice he couldn't help it. "Please tell me you're not jealous of another woman. Especially not–" He snapped his mouth shut, realizing too late that those final two words should never have come out of his mouth._

 _Pete sighed and closed his eyes, bracing himself with a hand on the jamb on each side of the door, and waited for the door to open once again, which it very quickly did, this time wide enough for him to step through. If he dared. He kept his eyes closed until Edie spoke._

" _And just what is that supposed to mean?"_

 _Pete opened his eyes and decided he had never seen her this mad before. Not even that time when she pushed him into the river. He was suddenly glad they weren't out on the veranda or on the old dock where Mother's once stood. From the look in her eyes she might not just push him into the river but might actually jump in after him to hold his head under the water._

" _Especially not what? Or should I say who?"_

" _It doesn't mean anything," he very quietly said. "You just drive me crazy sometimes." He pushed away from the door and ran a frustrated hand over his hair, lips tilting in a grin despite himself. "I told you once you're the most suspicious girl I've ever known and that certainly hasn't changed!"_

" _I drive you crazy?" The blonde's eyes spit blue fire and her voice became dangerously quiet. "You don't know the meaning of the word!" Her jaw set and she could feel angry tears threatening the back of her eyes but she wasn't going to let him see that. "I think you should leave."_

" _Edie–"_

" _You need to go. I don't want to talk to you right now." Her gaze rested on his necktie. She couldn't look him in the eyes as she spoke. No matter what he might or might not have done she wouldn't have been able to bear what she knew she would see there and that would be her undoing. If she looked him in the eyes she would melt and, and... She was mad, damn it! And she planned to stay mad until she wasn't anymore._

 _Pete gave a sigh and leaned forward and touched his lips to that perfect spot on the side of her neck. It cheered him that she didn't pull away. His lips swept across her ear in a tender caress and he left a brief kiss at her temple._

" _See you later, Silly."_

He had backed up a half step, buttoned the jacket of his nice charcoal gray suit, stuffed his right hand in his pants pocket (where Edie knew he'd begin fiddling with his lighter out of habit) then turned and walked down the short hall and through the door into the club. And that was the last she'd seen of him. She'd gotten over her anger at Pete for the most part, knowing that she'd undoubtedly read more into what she had seen than was really there. Maybe he hadn't actually kissed the pretty woman with the light brown hair and hazel eyes. His face _had_ sort of been turned away. And the more she thought about it she recalled there had been a man with the woman, a nice looking man with dark brown hair and a smiling face. Edie sighed and shook her head. She was an idiot. Sometimes she wondered how in the world Pete had managed to put up with her jealous streak for the past three years.

Emmett had been kind enough to drop her at the apartment after the club was closed for the night, insisting Pete wouldn't want him to leave her to take a cab home. Pete hadn't been there nor had he come home before Edie eventually left for work again earlier this evening. She glanced at her watch. It was nearing one o'clock. Even as annoyed as she'd been the previous evening she knew Pete wouldn't purposely stay away and make her worry. After all, it wasn't as if this was the first argument they'd ever had. And as he had said, she _was_ the most suspicious girl he had ever known. But that was only because she loved him and disliked seeing other women's vain attempts to gain his attention.

"Continually checking your watch won't encourage time to pass any more quickly than the norm, notwithstanding Mr. Einstein's General Theory of Relativity," Leslie advised, suddenly appearing at her side. He raised his eyebrows. "Are we suddenly impatient for some reason that I've not been made aware, Miss Hart?"

Edie gave him a blank look then shook her head slightly as her brain finally caught up with his words, her blonde hair swinging in loose curls against her neck and cheeks.

"I'm just concerned about Pete," she said, this time glancing toward the door as though wishing the man to walk through it would make it happen.

"Ah, yes. Our Mr. Gunn did seem to be rather the worse for wear."

"It's not like him not to come by or at least call, even _when_ we've had an argument." Her forehead crinkled with concern. "As a matter of fact he usually makes it a priority when we've had a disagreement, just to let me know that we'll be okay."

The maitre'd frowned and spared a confused glance for the woman.

"I fear we're speaking at odds here, Miss Hart." Leslie smiled and nodded politely at a middle-aged couple as they left the establishment. This time it was he who checked his watch. "Mr. Gunn wandered in at least an hour and a half ago and made his way toward your office. Or at least I thought he did. As I said he did seem a bit out of sorts."

Edie stared at Leslie in confusion for a moment before abruptly turning and heading in the direction he had indicated, the quick click of her heels on the tiled floor indicating her hurry. Leslie was right behind her, his voice bringing her to a halt next to the bar as he caught Charlie O'Brien's attention.

"Mr. O'Brien, did you happen to see Mr. Gunn when he came in earlier?"

The fresh-faced, forty-ish bartender nodded, keeping a watch on three customers while drying a wine glass. He glanced at the maitre d' then smiled at Edie.

"Sure did. He asked me for a shot glass and a bottle of bourbon." O'Brien shelved the dry wine glass and snagged another, making quick work of it as he continued to look at Edie. "Then he headed out back." He gave a motion with his head toward the veranda.

"Bourbon?" Edie questioned, her face scrunching up in confusion. "A whole bottle? Are you sure? That doesn't sound like Pete."

"Yes, ma'am," the bartender nodded. "He took a bottle of the good stuff. The _very_ good stuff."

"No. That doesn't sound like Pete at all." Edie shook her head slowly. If it was possible there was more concern in her voice than there had been earlier. "Something must have happened."

The maitre d' sighed as he watched Edie Hart hurry toward the back of the club. Some days he wished for much less drama than his current position afforded.

Edie found her way to the veranda and looked for Pete. It was close to closing time and the area was empty of diners and the little alcove she and the PI called their own offered up nothing but shadows. A bottle of Glenmore Bourbon and a shot glass were on a table and she was glad, but not overly surprised, to see that the seal on the liquor bottle hadn't been broken. Pete wasn't much of a drinker other than a glass of wine when the occasion warranted or a bottle of Budweiser when he wanted to relax after a particularly difficult job. The majority of the time if he poured himself something stronger it sat untouched. She frowned and walked farther out toward the railing. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she thought she saw the brief orange glow of a cigarette about halfway down the steps leading to the pier that angled out into the river.

"Pete?"

The PI tossed his cigarette aside, letting it float to the river below, and raised himself up halfway as Edie found the top step and eased her way down to him with the aid of lights reflecting off the slow moving water below. His hand found and encompassed hers and he settled her beside him on the step, enjoying the closeness of her sitting next to him in the warm, muggy air of the mid-June evening. Her fingers laced with his as their hands rested against his thigh and he could feel her eyes on him.

"What's wrong?" She cut to the chase and Pete had to chuckle.

"Nothing's wrong," he assured her.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"That's not what Leslie said. He said you looked the worse for wear."

"What else is new?" He gave her one of those little indulgent smiles that said to her she was stating the obvious. His eyes roamed her face and he decided she looked very pretty tonight, even if he could barely make out her features in the shadows weighing against the steps they were perched on. He said as much and got a weak smile in return.

"I've been worried."

"Why?" The PI reached inside his jacket and plucked the pack of Luckies from his shirt pocket. Extracting the last cigarette, he crumpled the paper and cellophane into a tight ball and tossed it toward the trash can below the steps, grunting in satisfaction when he hit his target. Placing the cigarette between his lips, he reached for the lighter in his right pants pocket, his eyes on the woman next to him.

"You didn't come home last night."

"I didn't?"

"No." Confusion colored her eyes at the long teasing look he gave her as he released a stream of smoke from his nostrils. "Did you?"

"I'm pretty sure I was changing clothes in _someone's_ apartment at five this morning." He flicked the lighter back on and made a show of inspecting the tailor's label on the inside seam of his jacket. "Yep, it's mine." He snapped the lighter shut and re-pocketed it.

"Pete–" She twisted around to face him, their knees brushing, her voice exasperated.

"You were on the sofa wrapped up in a blanket tight as a cocoon." The PI took a final drag from his cigarette and flicked the half-smoked butt into the water to keep company with the one he'd smoked earlier. "You looked tired and I didn't have the heart to wake you. Besides..." He leaned in to kiss her cheek, his lips lingering and his warm breath tickling her skin. "...you were snoring almost as loud as the puppy." Edie felt his smile against her neck and her own lips curved in reflexive response. "It was cute."

"I'm sorry for yesterday."

"Don't be." Pete's voice was muffled but the smile was still there. "If you didn't act silly every once in a while I'd begin to think you didn't love me anymore." He tilted his head so he could see her face. "I've grown accustomed to your girlishly suspicious nature. I kinda like it."

"I love you very much." She leaned into him and her arms came up to encircle his broad shoulders, her fingers fiddling with the short hairs on the back of his neck that told her he'd gotten a fresh haircut sometime in the hours since she'd last seen him.

"What was she doing here anyway?" Pete asked, deciding enough time had passed that he could bring up the subject of yesterday's visitor without fear of melodrama.

"Why ask me? She's _your_ old girlfriend, not mine."

The blonde derived some secret enjoyment in the adjective she assigned to Janice Baker, though from the humorous glint in Pete's eyes maybe it wasn't so secret after all. Pete had dated the pretty brown-haired woman for six months, their relationship ending almost three and a half years before he and Edie met. Edie herself had met the woman only once, following a dinner concert she and Pete had attended about a year ago, and though they were separated in age by only a couple of years Edie felt it quite apropos to refer to her as Pete's _old_ girlfriend. From that one brief encounter she had found Janice Baker to be quite friendly and cordial, but a number of other adjectives, some – well most – not so nice, had crossed her mind when she'd seen the pretty woman come through the door the previous evening and make a beeline for the PI.

"I don't like thinking of you with another woman."

The PI lifted his chin from her shoulder so he could look into her face. Edie wished she could read his expression. The deep shadows of the first hour of morning blended with the lights reflecting off the river below to hide whatever the man was thinking. His eyes said something, _many_ somethings, most of which she was fluent in, but there lurked in their dark blue depths a _different_ something at that precise moment. It stayed there, then was gone, and his lips tilted again in that little indulgent smile that was only ever just for her.

"Neither do I."

When it seemed as though he would say something further he instead leaned in to kiss her, their lips compulsively clinging even as he eventually pulled away.

"Let's go home." Pete grasped her hand in his again, helping her up and watching as she smoothed her skirt and dusted off whatever might have attached itself from the old pine wood planking of the steps. "You still look tired."

"I need to help Leslie close up."

"No need, Miss Hart." The smooth voice of the maitre d' found its way to them from the darkness at the top of the steps. "I believe if I try extremely hard I might _just_ be able to manage on my own for one night," he continued, the smile that colored his voice still curving his lips when the pair arrived back up on the veranda.

Both men watched, one with amused tenderness, the other with a knowing smile, as the woman nodded her thanks and headed inside to gather her things. As Edie disappeared past the few lingering patrons the PI glanced at the maitre d'.

"How about making that a few nights, Leslie." The words weren't really presented in the form of a question, but more of a request.

"Mr. Gunn?"

"I think our girl entrepreneur needs a small vacation." Pete gave his wristwatch a look then moved to the nearby table to retrieve the unopened bottle of bourbon and the shot glass. "Maybe a long weekend. I realize it's barely Wednesday morning but if you could manage things until Monday I'll owe you one."

"Consider it done."

"Thanks, Leslie. As the grocery boy at the A&P said to Edie last week..." Pete gave the maitre d' an uncharacteristic manly clap on the back as he stepped around him. "...you're the ginchiest."

Leslie remained where he was, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes following the PI with a hint of confusion as the tall dark-haired man strolled past the dining tables and stage and stepped behind the bar to stand next to O'Brien. _Ginchiest_? He supposed he'd have to call that man Wilbur to find out whether he'd been complimented or insulted. His gaze continued to touch on Pete as he watched him set the shot glass on the counter at the bartender's elbow and then return the liquor bottle to its appropriate place. He saw Pete's hand hover for a moment of apparent indecision before he picked up another bottle and said something to O'Brien that had the bartender smiling his quirky smile and nodding. His curiosity getting the better of him as the PI and his girlfriend left the club, Leslie wandered nonchalantly to the bar and stood contemplating the empty space left behind by the bottle of which Peter Gunn had availed himself. He raised an eyebrow. The PI had taken a bottle of the very best champagne in the house.


	3. My Hart Has a Mind of Its Own

**Peter Gunn, Edie Hart and other characters from the original "Peter Gunn" TV series unfortunately don't belong to me, nor do I make any financial gain from this story. But that doesn't mean I can't play with the characters and make them do what I want them to do. Most of the time. If I ask nicely. Actually, they usually just do what they want and rarely listen to me.**

 _I told myself these chapters would be kept to a certain minimum of words but sometimes the characters tend to get out of hand. They all have minds of their own. Special thanks to Melchy, as usual, for her insights into our hero and heroine. Hope you enjoy it._

 **That's a Sneaky Way to Propose**

 **Chapter 3: My Hart Has a Mind of Its Own**

 _ _Western_ _Union_ _Telegram_._ The three words were printed at the top left-hand corner of the little envelope sticking halfway out of Joe Hart's shirt pocket. Mary Grace Hart dragged her gaze away from those words as her husband handed her an enormous bouquet of her favorite flowers, a mixture of roses in various pastel hues, wrapped in white tissue paper. The sweet intoxicating aroma of the long-stemmed beauties - there must be at least two dozen of them she decided - permeated her confused senses and she brought the blooms closer and inhaled deeply.

"Such beautiful flowers," she murmured, dragging her eyes from the pinks, yellows and creams of the roses and the accompanying mixed shades of carnations and baby's breath to look at the box Joe placed on the dining room table. Her expression became troubled. Cigars? And her husband's favorite brand no less – Blackstones in a fancy wooden box – though he only ever occasionally smoked one. Better that than cigarettes, though, she'd long ago decided.

Joe picked the small envelope from his pocket, his wife leaning against his side as they inspected the cover. _If Not Delivered Return to the Above Address at Once._ The street number of the local telegraph office in Erie, Pennsylvania was hand stamped in purple ink. _Mr._ _and_ _Mrs_. _Joseph_ _Hart_ , along with their own address, shown through the narrow cellophane window toward the bottom of the envelope.

"A telegram," Mary Grace murmured. "Now who would be sending us a telegram? And at this hour of the afternoon!"

A perplexed frown settled across the woman's face. Her distracted blue gaze followed her husband as he procured a letter opener from the mahogany roll-top desk that had belonged to his father and to _his_ father before him. Joe wondered idly what the time of day had to do with anything but refrained from asking and merely chuckled to himself.

"It's bad news, I just know it."

"Now, honey." The sandy-haired man bit back a smile. "Who in the world would send flowers and cigars with bad news?"

"Someone who's trying to lighten the blow, that's who!"

With an exasperated sigh and an amused shake of his head, Joe Hart carefully slit open the envelope and extracted its contents. His blue gaze landed on the top line of the small cream-colored scrap of paper and his eyebrows drew together as he made note of where the missive had originated and saw that it had been sent at 3:12 PM. A quick glance at the watch on his left wrist assured him that had been barely an hour ago. He continued reading, his face giving nothing away though inwardly he felt a snicker coming on. And some other emotion that came and went and came again but which he found difficult to define.

"Where is it from?" he heard his wife inquire and he lowered the square of paper for a moment to look at her across the several feet that now separated them. Where? Wasn't that just like her? Trying to put off finding out who the message was from, deciding the _where_ would somehow delay the _who_ which would in turn delay the what and why.

"Westport, Connecticut."

"For heaven's sake!" The woman's brow furrowed in confusion. "We don't know anyone from Connecticut. Are you sure they didn't deliver it to the wrong house?"

"It was delivered to the right house," he solemnly assured her.

"I was right wasn't I? It's bad news, I can tell by the look on your face." She reached to tuck a stray lock of blonde hair, faintly tinged with gray, away from her forehead where it continually wanted to fall.

Joe chuckled and ran a hand along the back of his neck then looked back at his wife with a little grimace on his face and silently offered her the telegram. She buried her face in the bouquet of flowers, breathing in their intoxicating aroma once again, then carefully laid them on the dining room table before holding out her hand. Joe's eyes followed hers as they first touched on the date and time received at the local office (which had been hand stamped to one side, again in purple ink) and then found the body of the message.

WESTPORT CT 1961 JUN 16 3:12P EDT

MR AND MRS JSPH S HART

99 REYNOLDS LN ERIE PA

MARRIED. DESIRING YOUR BEST WISHES. WILL CALL WHEN HOME. WITH MUCH LOVE AND WARMEST REGARDS. PETE AND EDIE.

The words stared up from the small sheet of paper held gingerly between Mary Grace Hart's thumb and index finger. Though she appeared outwardly calm her fingers had a tight grip on the telegram her husband had passed to her after he'd extracted it from the envelope and read it silently to himself. Joe Hart figured she'd rather see the words in black and white than hear them aloud from him. The sandy-haired man tried to hide a smile as he watched one expression after another chase themselves across her face. At this particular instant she looked like she'd just received a death sentence. Finally she lifted her head and looked at him, her gaze initially troubled but then clearing suddenly as a thought occurred to her. She expelled a pent-up breath.

"This must be a _joke_!" She attempted a smile and gave a tentative laugh, though of the nervous variety, and glanced from her husband to the telegram and back again. "That's what it is. It has to be a joke. Someone is trying to be funny by playing a joke on us and I plan to find out exactly who it is and give them a piece of my mind! There's no way in the world Edith would marry– … There's no way she would get married and not tell us!"

"It sounds like she just did," Joe Hart interjected softly. He motioned toward the flowers and box of cigars on the table. "And it would be an awfully expensive joke. I don't know of _anyone_ who would spend that kind of money just to get Grace Hart's goat!"

"Why, we're her parents!" She continued as if she didn't hear him. "A girl wouldn't get married without telling her parents!"

"Grace – "

"That would be– that would be just plain mean. And Edith isn't that type of girl, she's not the kind that would treat her parents that way!" She tossed the telegram toward the table where it fluttered to a landing next to the cigar box. "We brought her up better than that. We raised her to be a–"

"Gracie – " He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a light squeeze. "Don't you think you're being just a little– "

"Not to even invite us– A wedding is– She's our daughter, Joe, our little girl! And she– Why would she _do_ such a thing?" She shrugged his arm away as she suddenly changed tacks. "It's all _his_ fault! That _man_. He made her do this, I just know it! I warned her! I–" Mary Grace's words came to an abrupt halt, she slapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes got wide as she stared at her husband. "Oh no! Oh, Joe, you don't think – "

"I don't think what?" He shook his head in helpless exasperation.

"You don't think she's pregnant do you? Isn't that usually why people elope? That would absolutely kill my mother! And what would our friends think?"

"Honey–"

"I'm going to find out right now what this is all about," the woman murmured almost to herself. Stepping around her husband she picked up the telephone receiver and began to dial.

"Honey, they said they'd call."

Mary Grace shook her head and held a finger to her lips to shush her husband, little lines weaving her forehead and lips compressing to form a thin line. Joe just sighed and gazed benevolently at his wife as she listened to the tinny ringing of the telephone at the other end of the line, the determination in her eyes telling him all he needed to know. After a seemingly interminable time she released a telling sigh and reached out and jiggled the receiver rest and then smoothly redialed, though a slight tremor was evident in the hand that hovered over the telephone. Again she listened and then finally replaced the receiver and dropped into the chair beside the telephone table. An indecisive few minutes passed before she eventually spoke.

"Do we have his number?"

"Whose number?" Joe asked, keeping a remarkably straight face, though apparently not straight enough to pass muster where the woman he loved was concerned. He ended up on the receiving end of a sharp no-nonsense glance from his wife. "Oh, you mean our new son-in-law?"

"Joseph Hart, so help me – "

"You know just as well as I do that its in the address book." Joe watched as she reached a reluctant hand to the little drawer in the small table. "Why don't you just leave it alone, Grace? Anything you do or say will only complicate the situation in the long run."

He watched for a moment as she dug for the address book and flipped the pages. Then with a shake of his head, accompanied by a long-suffering sigh, he headed through the swinging door leading to the kitchen and quickly returned with a crystal vase half filled with water. The roses, carnations and baby's breath filled the vase completely and made a striking display for the center of the dining room table. Joe picked up the box of cigars and carefully broke the seal, lending one eye and half an ear to what his wife was up to. His full attention drifted from the cigars, which he decided had just as lovely an aroma as the flowers, when Mary Grace suddenly spoke into the phone.

"Hello! Edith?" The voice at the other end of the line didn't sound like it belonged to her daughter but she asked anyway. People's voices always sounded funny on long distance.

" _No ma'am. This is the Toomey Answering Service. How may I be of assistance?"_

"Oh." Mary Grace knew her response sounded silly but she couldn't think of anything else to say. The man had an answering service? But she'd dialed his home number. How on earth did that work she wondered and absently decided she'd have to ask Jeffrey. Her son was always up to date with all those modern amenities. "I'm sorry, I was calling Mr. Peter Gunn's number. Would you happen to know where I can reach him?"

" _I'm afraid not, ma'am. We're merely an answering service. We don't call our clients, we take messages when they're unavailable to answer their calls personally and they call in to receive those messages at a convenient time."_

"Oh, I see. That makes sense. I suppose I could leave a message then."

" _Yes ma'am."_

"Could you ask Mr. Gunn to please have Edith– Miss Hart– _one_ of them..." Mary Grace paused to take a breath and gather her thoughts. "Please have Miss Hart or Mr. Gunn call Miss Hart's parents. Could you please give Mr. Gunn that message? My name is Mary Grace Hart. Mrs. Joseph Hart. I'm Miss Hart's mother."

" _I'll be very happy to do that, Mrs. Hart. I'll give the message to whichever one calls."_

Whichever one? Did that mean Edith called the man's answering service?

" _Does Mr. Gunn have your number?"_

Does he ever! The thought ran through Mary Grace's head before she could stop it and she choked back an almost hysterical laugh that had her husband's head jerking upward from his admiration of the cigar he was rolling around with his fingers as he deliberated lighting it. He wouldn't mind having a smoke to celebrate his little girl's marriage but he wasn't certain how his wife would take it. Well, actually he was, so the cigar could wait until after she went to bed tonight. He'd tell her he was staying up to watch the _Tonight_ _Show_ , and he would, and he'd enjoy the smoke while he listened to Jack Paar's stupid jokes. He returned the Blackstone to its wooden box and listened as Mary Grace assured whoever she was talking to that Peter Gunn did indeed have their number and to please have him, or preferably Miss Hart, call as soon as possible. She replaced the receiver and sat staring at nothing in particular.

Supper ended up a quiet affair, just the two of them at the small light yellow Formica table in their normally cheery kitchen, with Mary Grace keeping one ear peeled for the telephone to ring and answering her husband with only vague replies when he made a comment or asked a question. Her eyes strayed on occasion through the open kitchen door into the dining room to rest on the colorful blooms adorning the center of the old oak dining table, the expression on her face shifting moment by moment. At any given point Joe wasn't certain whether she was about to begin bawling or wanted to beat her fists on the table in anger. She washed the dishes by herself, shooing him away with the comment that she'd rather be alone. To think. She didn't say that but he heard the words nevertheless. He moved his arm to encompass his wife's shoulders when she sat down next to him on the sofa as he chuckled at the antics of Fred Flintstone. Then at precisely nine o'clock she picked up the address book from the coffee table where she'd placed it earlier, pulled the telephone onto her lap and began dialing.

* * *

Leslie sighed and glanced at the ringing telephone, an unreadable expression in his dark brown eyes. He'd just been thinking how nice the sound of silence sometimes was, glad that the pace of the late evening had begun to slow somewhat. Having owned his own restaurant for years, the maitre d' was accustomed to the lulls and peaks of a busy night, but it was on evenings such as this that he appreciated having Miss Hart around to help cope with the overabundance of diners. Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone but himself. He _would_ admit though that he was proud of the way she had turned her club into one of the prime businesses of its type in town. With a little help from him of course.

A smile now curling the corners of his lips, Leslie lifted the receiver, answering the call with a well-modulated greeting.

"This is _Edie's_. Leslie speaking."

" _Hello, um... Leslie. This is Mrs. Hart."_ The voice on the other end of the line paused momentarily. _"Mary Grace Hart. Edith's mother."_

"Ah! Good evening, Madame. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

" _I've been trying to reach my daughter since this afternoon but I don't seem to be having any luck. There was no answer when I called her apartment. But that's nothing new, I'd be shocked if I ever caught her there. Ever since..."_ Another brief pause. _"And there was no answer at Mr. Gunn's apartment when I very reluctantly dialed his number. I decided by now she must be at work and decided to take the chance of catching her there."_

The man deciphered the question hidden in the woman's seemingly innocent comment.

"I'm afraid your luck doesn't bode any better here, Mrs. Hart." Leslie gave a cordial nod to a middle-aged man and woman as they passed him on their way out. "I don't expect to see Miss Hart before the first of the week. But I'll be more than happy to take a message in case she happens to call."

He grabbed a pen and pulled a message pad from beneath a reservation book and waited for the woman to continue, which she finally did, but not in the form of a message to be communicated.

" _Is it true?"_

"Madame?" Leslie frowned, his gaze absently watching the combo as the men finished their set and prepared to take a well-earned ten minute break. "I'm afraid I have no idea to what you're referring."

" _Is it true that my daughter has married that man?"_

Leslie reached out a hand and grabbed Emmett Ward's arm as the pianist sauntered by, pulling him quickly to the side and taking a step back for both of them, his eyes warning Emmett not to say anything. He raised a dark eyebrow and tilted the telephone receiver away from his ear and motioned the blond man closer so they both could listen.

"I apologize profusely, Mrs. Hart," Leslie murmured into the receiver, then cleared his throat as Emmett rolled his eyes. "But I'm afraid my attention was diverted for just the briefest of moments. Would you mind repeating that?"

" _Is it really true that Edith has done the unthinkable and married that man?"_ A sigh of discontent reverberated along the three hundred odd miles that separated them. _"It's bad enough they've been living in sin without a care that the whole world knows about it but I never dreamed they'd actually..."_ Her voice trailed off momentarily, giving Leslie the impression she'd run out of breath, but she continued before he could form any sort of rational response. _"_ _Did you have any idea at all that they were planning such a thing? How in heavens name could you let this happen!"_

Emmett choked back a laugh and began coughing convulsively, slapping a hand over his mouth and falling back against the wall in a virtual paroxysm. Leslie briefly covered the mouthpiece and gave him a glare before returning his attention to his caller.

"My good woman, I assure you I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." He turned his eyes upward as a look of exasperation crossed his face. "And even if by some great leap of the imagination I actually did have knowledge of what you're referring to it wouldn't be my place to spread gossip or hearsay. Miss Hart, being my employer, would be quite put out if I did such a thing and I could only imagine what Mr. Gunn, also being my employer, might do to me. I treasure my life _and_ my livelihood."

The maitre d' gave Emmett Ward a calculating look as Mary Grace Hart fell into a brief moment of silence. The quiet hum of the open line was almost comforting.

"Do you know anything about this?" he mouthed silently to the pianist.

Emmett shrugged and shook his head. Leslie returned his attention to the telephone.

"I certainly don't wish to appear the busybody, Mrs. Hart, but may I ask why you believe a marriage has taken place between Miss Hart and Mr. Gunn?"

" _We received a telegram late this afternoon. Can you imagine that?"_ the woman sighed. _"Our daughter gets married and we find out by telegram, along with a huge bouquet of roses and a box of Blackstone cigars, like that would somehow put salve on the wound."_ She offered to read the message to him and there followed the sound of paper shuffling close to the receiver on her end of the line _. "'Married. Desiring your best wishes. Will call when home. With much love and warmest regards. Pete and Edie.' That's all it says. Can you believe that? She goes off and gets married without any prior warning, merely runs of with the man and, and..."_

Leslie smiled at the wording of the telegram. The message had to have been written by Mr. Gunn and it made him want to chuckle and he would have given in to the urge but for the dismay it would cause Mrs. Hart. He glanced over at Emmett, who stood with his arms folded, shaking his head, a smirk on his face. A bass note sounding from the stage had the pianist looking over at Kevin Murphy and Leo Franklin. He quickly motioned for five more minutes.

" _...and apparently not even a religious ceremony, probably one of those justices of the peace. Not that a religious ceremony would be proper considering the way they've been living and all the shenanigans that have been going on. The Cathlolic church Edith grew up attending would never have allowed such a thing! A marriage in front of a justice of the peace isn't even considered a real marriage. Not that it makes much of a difference one way or the other, as far as I know neither one of them has graced the doorway of a church in years."_

Leslie attempted to ignore the man standing beside him. The blond-headed musician's shoulders were heaving and his hands covered his face so that only his eyes were visible between his fingers. His forehead and ears were red from the exertion of attempting to control his laughter. The maitre d' was beginning to regret his impulsiveness at sharing the moment with Emmett.

" _...and she wasn't raised that way! She never carried on in such a manner until she left home and began working in those chorus lines and jazz clubs and road shows and who knows where else. I'm sure there were other places and jobs she never mentioned to us. And hanging around with all those entertainment people, those musicians and beatniks. And then that man comes along and..."_ Mrs. Hart heaved a sigh. _"I don't know whether to laugh or cry."_

"I quite understand, madame," Leslie murmured. "I find myself experiencing quite the range of emotions myself."

" _And then she goes off and marries him without a word to anyone. How could she be so selfish?"_

"May I be so bold as to ask where this alleged tying of the knot occurred?"

" _The telegram was sent from Westport, Connecticut."_ There was a pause. _"Are you sure you don't know anything about this, Mr. Leslie?"_

"Just Leslie is fine, Mrs. Hart. No need for the mister." How many times had he told her that? Every time she called, which was the rare occasion, and the time or two he'd been afforded the company of the Harts when they'd visited their daughter. "I can only repeat that I don't expect Miss Hart until Monday. Mr. Gunn made an impromptu decision to encourage her to take a few days for a brief vacation. Neither he nor Miss Hart has made an appearance here since early Wednesday morning. I assure you that's all I know of the situation."

" _Is she pregnant?"_

"Excuse me?"

Leslie was flabbergasted. At least as flabbergasted as the normally taciturn Leslie was prone to get. He was also momentarily speechless. Emmett on the other hand found Mrs. Hart's persistence hilarious. His eyebrows went up and he motioned toward the receiver in the maitre d's hand and his head bobbed up and down emphatically.

"Tell her yes," Emmett hissed. "Just to see what happens!"

Leslie glared and shook his head.

"I'm afraid I'm not privy to the intimate details of Miss Hart's–" Miss Hart's _what?_ came the unbidden thought. "...of Miss Hart's private life." What on earth would have given the woman that idea? Leslie suddenly hoped he hadn't said those words aloud. He really needed to have a discussion with Mr. Gunn and his lovely girlfriend concerning the job description of maitre d' at an establishment such as _Edie's_. He certainly hadn't been hired to perform the duty of town gossip. Not that he wasn't interested in every little tidbit he was hearing from the lips of Mrs. Hart.

" _We haven't spoken on the telephone in about three and a half weeks. She seemed a bit out of sorts at the time, not quite her usual self."_ It sounded to Leslie as if Mrs. Hart was trying to figure some things out in her own mind. _"She mentioned that Mr. Gunn– that Peter was out of town, in Mexico I think she said, so naturally I just blamed it on that."_

"I'm quite certain that's all it was, Mrs. Hart." Leslie concluded that Mrs. Hart was quite the stickler for given names.

" _Are you sure?"_

"She does tend to moon about on the rare occasion that Mr. Gunn is out of town," Leslie offered, hoping she'd continue but praying she wouldn't.

" _I just knew that man was going to be trouble!"_ Mary Grace huffed. _"The first time we met him he seemed very nice, that I'll admit. But the second time, when we dropped in to visit for a few days when Joe had his vacation that year, and he was– And Edith... Well, it was quite obvious what the two of them had been up to! Her in her nightgown when she answered the door and him in his– And in the kitchen cooking breakfast!"_

"Well." Leslie forced himself not to ask. "Did we decide on whether you'd be leaving a message on the off-chance Miss Hart might call?"

He found back the message pad – one of Miss Hart's with cat and dog faces forming an edge around pink paper, something he'd really have to discuss with her – and his black ballpoint and patiently took down Mrs. Hart's message word for word and then read it back to her at her request. He carefully set the telephone receiver back on the cradle and stared at it for about fifteen seconds before raising his eyes to meet Emmett's laughing gaze.

"And she honestly wonders why Edie didn't tell her she was getting married," the good looking musician snickered, the barest hint of sarcasm evident in bis voice. His smirk slowly faded and his blue eyes widened as the realization of his words suddenly hit him.

"Married?"

Emmett mumbled something about needing to make a telephone call and then quickly disappeared toward the back of the club. As for Leslie, his eyebrows rose precariously and a smile of smug amusement lightened his expression as he straightened the white carnation garnishing lapel.


	4. Scrabbling Around for an Answer

**Peter Gunn, Edie Hart and other characters from the original series unfortunately don't belong to me, nor do I make any financial gain from this story. But that doesn't mean I can't play with the characters and make them do what I want them to do. Most of the time. If I ask nicely. Actually they usually just do what they want and rarely listen to me.**

 _Thanks to all who've read or reviewed. Special thanks to Melchy for her constant ability to come up with answers to silly questions. Writing for Pete and Edie is a labor of love._

 **That's a Sneaky Way to Propose**

 **Chapter 4: Scrabbling Around for an Answer**

Left elbow resting on the coffee table, Peter Gunn raised his hand and rubbed his thumb thoughtfully against his chin and sighed inwardly. Things certainly weren't looking good for him, but far be it that he allow the woman sitting on the floor beside him know of his concern. After all, Scrabble was serious business and Edie Hart had beaten him at it one too many times. He stared at the seven small wooden tiles nestled together on their little wooden rack, his mind wandering absently to the inconsequential events of the relaxing day he and Edie had spent, and tried to figure out what in the world he could do with the letters he'd drawn. Not that it mattered in the long run.

"Perhaps we should start using a timer," Edie suggested innocently.

"Why? So you can win faster?" Pete lifted his gaze from the tiles, his lips tilting in a little smile as his eyes roamed her face and then lower. They'd been lazy today, as evidenced by the light blue cotton pajama shorts Edie was wearing with one of his old white dress shirts, the sleeves rolled up double-time and her shorts almost disappearing beneath the length of the tails. Pete himself wasn't dressed quite so casually, having donned a pair of comfortable gray trousers along with his favorite striped short sleeve shirt and dark blue sweater vest, as he'd already had to take the puppy for a constitutional twice today and didn't figure any of the neighbors would appreciate him wandering around in anything less befitting a gentleman.

After leaving the club they'd stopped for a quick late – or extremely early, depending on how one looked at it – supper at Guido's and then had found their way home and up the stairs, where they'd fallen into the soft cream-colored cotton sheets of the big queen-size bed almost immediately. They'd done what always came naturally whenever they were together between those sheets and afterwards Pete had found himself enveloped in that wonderful lethargy that inevitably overtook him following their lovemaking. Edie would undoubtedly call it an afterglow, like the authors of those steamy romance novels she didn't think he was aware she read. Once upon a time he'd discovered one in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator in her former apartment, stuffed behind a big carton of Fudge Ripple ice cream, her best friend Sheila Bell's name unsurprisingly scrawled inside the front cover. His natural curiosity had him flipping through the pages of the ragged paperback and he'd come across that word. Afterglow. He'd chuckled silently, both at the word and at the absurdity of Edie's chosen hiding place, then stuck the book back in the freezer, burying it beneath the aluminum ice cube tray. She could wonder how it got to be there.

The PI had smiled to himself over that memory as he stared up at shadows dancing on the ceiling early this morning. He'd felt tired and happy and content but couldn't get to sleep. He supposed he could have blamed his rare insomnia on the unseasonably sticky warmth of the early mid-June morning, which the slight breeze ruffling the curtains did nothing at all to alleviate, but that wasn't the reason. He'd known perfectly well why he couldn't sleep. What he hadn't known was why the woman beside him was wide awake. He had felt her watching him in that dreary dim light that preceded dawn. She hadn't questioned him any further on the short drive home from the club and hadn't seemed overly curious about what might have been wrapped up in the gray suit coat he'd uncharacteristically taken off before she returned from her dressing room. He'd only hoped with an inward smile that she hadn't thought it was the bottle of Glenmore. He'd finally turned onto his side and pulled her close and brought the sheet up to cover them both and they'd slept.

"Why don't I go start a fresh pot of coffee and make us something to eat," Edie offered, bringing him out of his reverie as she rose to her knees and leveraged herself to her feet in the narrow space between the couch and sofa.

"Now there's a charming thought," the PI remarked.

The blonde afforded him a narrow-eyed look and then wrinkled her nose at him.

"We can have egg sandwiches and there's still some of that cake Mother sent home with us on Sunday. In the meantime maybe you'll think of something to do with your letters."

She playfully ruffled his hair and headed for the kitchen, the man's eyes on her the entire time. His gaze shifted to his Scrabble tiles as she disappeared and after a few minutes of thoughtful contemplation he reached out a hand to the extras that lay face down next to the board.

"What are you doing out there?" Edie's suspicious voice came from the direction of the kitchen and was accompanied by the clatter of dishes. "Are you cheating?"

"Of course not. I'm pretty sure I'm smart enough to lose without cheating." He pushed the remainder of the draw tiles into a neater assortment after availing himself of seven, clearing a spot for the supper plates that would be coming.

"Soufflé." Edie came out of the kitchen carrying the glass coffee carafe decorated with atomic starburst patterns in one hand and two large brown cups in the other. She set the pot on the warmer atop the coffee bar and placed the cups beside it.

"I thought you said egg sandwiches."

"For the puppy, you nut."

"He gets a soufflé and all I get is an egg sandwich?" The PI leaned his head to one side and peered over at the little dachshund lying on a folded afghan beside the desk, happily at work chewing on an old slipper. "I guess that tells me who has priority around here."

"His name," Edie sighed, hand on her hip as she turned to look at him. "We should call him Soufflé."

"Quite a name for such a little dog." Pete gave her a sideways glance as he shifted his position on the floor. Had he been standing when she entered the room, Edie wondered? "Don't you think all the other dogs might laugh at him?"

"I think it's quite an appropriate name considering where he was found."

"Wandering in the coat check room? If that's the case shouldn't he be called Mackintosh or Fedora? Or Umbrella," the PI teased. "And while we're on the subject, please tell me how you manage to accumulate all these animals."

"Me? In case you somehow forgot, Mr. Peter Gunn, _you_ were the one who wrangled the cat from Loretta Gymps. I wasn't there, I had nothing to do with it." A reminiscent smile suddenly brightened her face as her gaze landed on Thomas the ginger-haired cat where he sat yawning beside the closed glass door leading onto the patio."Wasn't he the cutest little kitten?"

"Mmm. And explain the guppies again?"

"You know perfectly well how I ended up with the guppies." Both hands were on her hips now as she gave him a look of perfected outrage. "I couldn't let the man at the pet store feed them to the other fish just because they were poor little leftover babies that no one wanted. They only cost a nickel apiece."

"And then there was the seven dollar tank," the PI reminded her with a glint in his eye. "The sand and marbles, those little castles for them to swim through, the plastic plants, three different kinds of food and half a dozen books on the proper care and feeding of guppies. You don't have that many books on the proper care and feeding of _me_."

The blonde raised her eyebrows and gave a sly grin.

"You'd be surprised at the number of books I own that explain in extremely vivid detail _exactly_ how to take care of you."

Pete looked at her with affectionate amusement.

"Hiding _them_ in the freezer, too?" he asked, his smiled growing as Edie's eyes widened. "And do I smell eggs burning?"

He chuckled as the woman turned and fled to the kitchen, the laughter remaining in his eyes even as she returned some minutes later with sandwiches as well as a few pickles, olives and peppers as a side on each plate. She held up a hand to forestall him when he opened his mouth to comment on her culinary skills, turning her back on him as she procured their coffee from the bar.

"Just shut up and eat," she advised kindly, setting their mugs down.

She knelt down beside him and frowned curiously as for the first time she noticed an ice bucket on the corner of the table, a dark bottle just visible where it peeked from beneath a small towel that was draped over the bucket. She watched as Pete stretched a long arm to pick up a pair of fluted glasses that had been set on the fireplace bench.

"Wine? With eggs?" Edie smiled playfully and reached across for the bottle. "Which is proper, red or white? I know both go with chicken but what goes with chicken before it's chicken? And just where have you been hiding this?" Her gaze landed on the label and her eyebrows rose. "Champagne?" Her eyes widened as she realized what brand it was and where it had come from.

"I traded it for the Glenmore," he admitted, accepting the bottle from her.

"Which you still haven't explained to me," she murmured, watching as the PI unhinged the wire from the cork top while keeping his thumb firmly pressed against it, wrapped the towel around the neck of the bottle to provide a better grip and then gently eased the cork out.

"I had an aggravating night getting the run-around from Jacoby while I was supposedly doing him a favor." He poured the bubbling liquid into the glasses. "By the time I got to the club I was so tired of his inane case and his harebrained ideas that a stiff drink didn't sound half bad. But I got over it." He didn't mention how the policeman managed to get himself locked in the walk-in freezer at Copeland's Meat Market or how he himself had ruined a brand new dress shirt digging through a foot of river mud for the keys Jacoby's suspect had tossed there as he'd made his third escape of the night. That could wait for another time.

"I'm glad to know it wasn't me who was driving you to drink." The blonde smiled and took a sip of champagne. "Do you realize how expensive this stuff is?" she asked, her cornflower blue gaze studying his face as she settled beside him.

"I'll work it off."

"Doing what?" She set her glass on the table and gave him an impish smile.

"We'll figure out something," Pete winked.

"Come to think of it Wendy is taking a week's vacation starting Monday after next. You could fill in for her and use your tips to pay it off." She looked him up and down where he sat and her smile became a smirk. "You'd make a nice looking waiter. You'd probably get the champagne paid off in one night and still have enough money left over to take us out to dinner and a movie."

"Very funny." Pete took a bite of his sandwich. "This isn't half bad."

"A backhanded compliment if ever I heard one."

They ate in companionable silence and she extended her glass when he offered a refill.

"I feel guilty drinking this for no reason," Edie murmured. "It seems a waste."

"There's always a reason."

Pete leaned in and kissed her, his mouth and tongue cool from the champagne, and Edie blindly set her glass back on the table. He drew away, their lips barely inches apart as his eyes smiled into hers.

"I love you dearly. Is that a good reason?"

"I love you too, Pete."

The PI's lips tilted in a little smile as the woman beamed at him. He lifted a hand, gently pushing back into place a few stray curls that had escaped from behind her ear. Leaning against the sofa, he allowed his gaze to explore her face, his fingers sliding downward to fiddle with the third button down of his old Brooks Bothers shirt she wore, the open first two buttons giving him a tantalizing view of the valley between her breasts.

"Some people live their entire lives not realizing what they have." His arm went around her shoulders and he drew her closer, his lips found that perfect place on her neck before he lifted his head to look at her, that same teasing tilt of a smile still in evidence."I knew the exact moment I saw you for the first time. I knew you were the one. Everyone needs to find their one. It would make the world a better place."

"You're becoming very philosophical in your old age."

He leaned in again, the kiss becoming somewhat more involved this time, hands seeking and exploring, until the woman pulled away in order to catch her breath. She grabbed his wrist and turned it to give his watch a glance.

"It's getting late. Why don't we go to bed?" she breathily suggested.

"Let's finish the game first."

"You'd rather play Scrabble than play with _me_?"

"They say never go to bed on a full stomach," Pete advised, relaxing against the sofa at his back, one arm stretched along the seat cushions, the other resting on his raised knee.

" _Who_ says?"

"People who know these things." His hand drifted to her shoulder and his fingers fiddled with her hair where it lay against her neck.

A narrow-eyed look accompanied a sigh from the woman.

"Fine." She pushed away their supper plates and peered at the board. "I don't suppose it will take that long," she teased, her face still bearing the becoming pink flush resulting from their romantic efforts. "Did you finish your turn?"

"Mmm." Pete indicated the tiles he'd attached to the Y in a word already played.

"S-A-Y? And you played it on Y-E-S. Well I have to admit you're imaginative if nothing else."

She picked up a pencil and added six points to his meager number on the little white pad they were using to keep score. Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, she reached a hand to retrieve her rack of tiles which had ended up on the other side of the table when Pete had made room for the supper plates. The PI stilled her fingers before she could turn the rack to look at the tiles and take her turn.

"They spilled over when I was moving things. I'm not sure I put the right ones back."

His lips twitched as Edie rolled her eyes.

"So I was right."

"About what?"

"You _were_ cheating," she accused. "You've been playing around with my things."

"I haven't played around with your things in hours," the PI blandly denied.

"That's what you were doing when I was in the kitchen," Edie tsked, shaking her head at him in a playful gesture of sad disappointment. "You switched my tiles to keep me from spelling anything just because I'm winning. I'll bet a nickel you gave me the Q and the Z and no vowels at all. Oh Pete, how could you?"

She gave him that big infectious smile that he loved. Pete chuckled and lifted his fingers from hers and watched as she positioned the rack so she could see the tiles. The blonde was still smiling and shaking her head dolefully as her gaze fell on her letters. Her grin faltered momentarily as she stared at the tiles, her eyes flicking upward to meet his gaze and then dropping again to...

MARRY ME

"I don't know what got into me to even think about doing something so despicable," the PI murmured. He reached out a hand. "How about we put these back and you can–"

"Don't you dare!" Her voice came to life and she slapped his hand away. Her gaze fell to the tiles and she read again the two words they spelled out while in the far reaches of her mind she absently wondered how she was able to remain so calm in the face of...

MARRY ME

That's what the letters on the little wooden rack spelled out. Didn't they? She was sure they did. Unless those two glasses of champagne she'd had were making her see things. She squeezed her eyes shut and gradually opened them back. The words were still there.

"Pete...?" Edie's gaze sought that of the man sitting beside her, his body a solid wall of warmth, his arm now comfortably around her shoulders. Her eyes searched his and a big smile slowly brightened her face again, this time giddily as she read what his expression was telling her, and she turned against his side and reached a hand to his cheek. "You're serious."

"I'm serious. But obviously not very romantic," he admitted with a self-effacing smile.

"Oh, Pete..." A wobbly laugh accompanied Edie's grin and suddenly her hands were on either side of his face as she fell against him and found his mouth with hers in a kiss that stole his breath away. "I love it," she eventually gasped, breaking the kiss. "I love you. And you don't have to ask, you know I'll – " She leaned back in his embrace and gave the tiles another glance and then turned an amused glare on the PI. "That's a sneaky way to propose! When did you come up with the idea?"

"About ten seconds before you went into the kitchen to start the coffee." His chest shook with laughter and Edie felt his smile as he brushed his lips against the curve of her neck. Her gaze fell on the almost empty champagne bottle.

"So bringing the champagne home had nothing to do with it?"

"Sure it did. I just had no idea I'd use it tonight."

Pete raised his head, leaving a tender kiss on the woman's collarbone, and shifted into a more comfortable position, his arm around Edie as she rested against his shoulder.

"I've wanted to ask you since I got home from Acapulco," he told her. "But every time I came up with what I thought was the perfect way, the more I thought about it the dumber it sounded. Which reminds me – "

He got to his feet, pulling the woman with him and settling her on the sofa.

"Be right back."

Edie twisted sideways on the cushion, folding her legs beneath her and watching as he jogged up the stairs and into the bedroom, a bemused smile on her face. She could see a shadow as he moved around the room, heard him open the closet door and close it back after about half a minute, then he switched the floor lamp on and the main light off. Her smile widened again as he came down the stairs at the same rapid pace as when he went up them. Her heart raced to match that pace and she turned to face him as he sat down beside her and offered up a small blue jeweler's box.

"I know how much you like those big baubles..." he winked as she accepted the box, his eyes never leaving her face as she carefully eyed him before dropping her own gaze to the container and with trembling fingers lifted the lid on its little hinges.

"Pete, I hope you didn't– "

She gasped when she saw the ring. The setting contained a beautiful round-cut ruby as the feature stone. The deep red gem was flanked on each side by two diamonds and the wide band was a rosy yellow gold, giving it the appearance of newness while at the same time conjuring a picture of past beauty. It was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen, the most perfect thing he could have given her. She was dumbstruck.

"I hope you're not disappointed," he teased. "It _is_ small compared to that monstrosity I brought you from Mexico. But then again I don't recall that one leaving you speechless." His lips tilted in an affectionate smile. "I guess I'll have to remember that in the future. Smaller is better."

"Pete..." She shook her head and stared at the ring, a tremulous smile curving her lips as she moved her gaze to meet his. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Edie could think of nothing else to say other than to echo her earlier thought.

The PI took the box from her and removed the ring from the backing, slipping from the sofa to kneel in front of her on the carpeted floor in the process.

"Never let it be said Peter Gunn didn't get down on at least one knee," he said, reaching for her left hand and gently slipping the ring on the proper finger before leaning in for a kiss.

"Hey, you do that pretty good," Edie teased when they eventually broke apart, unable to stop smiling, her arms looped around the man's neck.

"I aim to please," he jested with a puckish smile.

"Take it from me, Mr. Gunn, you please very much. And your aim isn't half bad either."

She tapped a beckoning forefinger to her lips and Pete leaned in for another quick kiss. Then he reached for the hand bearing the ring, his fingers gently rotating it on her finger as he admired it against her skin, his expression becoming serious as his eyes met hers.

"Edith June Hart, will you do me the tremendous honor of becoming my wife?"

"Oh, Pete..." She grinned delightedly and ran the fingers of one hand through his hair.

"You're supposed to say yes," he encouraged, nodding toward the words he'd formed on the Scrabble board.

Edie slid off the sofa, her legs straddling his lap as he shifted from his knees to a sitting position. Her hands framed his face once again and her eyes took on the seriousness of his as she returned his gaze.

"Yes, I will most certainly marry you," she softly told him.

The PI nodded, his expression remaining serious even as a glimmer of amusement began to creep into his gaze.

"I don't want you to ever regret being with me."

"Don't be an idiot," the blonde smirked.

He returned her smile and dropped a lingering kiss on her lips, his hands sliding beneath the cotton shirt to tickle along her ribs before resting warmly against the bare skin of her lower back. Suddenly Edie's hands gripped his forearms as she abruptly ended the caress and pushed back in his loose embrace to look into his face.

"When?" she asked somewhat breathlessly.

Pete raised one dark eyebrow and gave brief thought to pretending he didn't know what she was talking about but then simply offered an affectionate smile instead.

"You name the time and the place and I'll be there. How does that sound?"

"Now. I want to marry you now. Today. Tonight."

* * *

 _(Referenced Episodes: Pete and Edie play Scrabble in "I Know It's Murder" S3 EP19; Pete gives the kitten to Edie in "The Frog" S1 EP5; the dachshund puppy is found in the coat check room at Edie's club in "Deadly Intrusion" S3 EP35; Pete mentions Edie's tank of guppies to Lieutenant Jacoby in "Jacoby's Vacation" S3 EP16; Pete gives Edie a ring that he brought her from Acapulco in "Death is a Four Letter Word" S3 EP34.)_


	5. The Meaning in the Messages

**Peter Gunn, Edie Hart and other characters from the original series unfortunately don't belong to me, nor do I make any financial gain from this story. But that doesn't mean I can't play with the characters and make them do what I want them to do. Most of the time. If I ask nicely. Actually they usually just do what they want and rarely listen to me.**

 _Thanks to those who have read or reviewed this story. Comments, compliments and even complaints are always appreciated. Special thanks to Melchy for helping out with some minor details. As always, writing for Pete and Edie is a labor of love._

 **That's a Sneaky Way to Propose**

 **Chapter 5: The Meaning in the Messages**

Third time is the charm. That's how the old saying went anyway. The third time you try to do something it will work. Unfortunately, as far as Frank Gunn was concerned, it was a twisted untruth. A lie. A sham. A totally misguided notion most probably advanced by people who believed in leprechauns and carried around orange-dyed rabbit's feet in their pockets for good luck. Wasn't much luck for the rabbit he grumped to himself.

The motor in his old Coldspot chest freezer had gone out at some point during the past two days, he wasn't certain when, but the items in the top baskets had already begun to defrost by the time he discovered the problem. Something had seemed off in the house during the night and it had finally dawned on him that he didn't hear the comforting hum of the trusty appliance. At 2:40 this morning he'd been transferring still edible fish and meat to the fridge and had then tried to figure out the problem. Simple. No hum equals a dead motor. The fix-it guy wouldn't be there until tomorrow morning, which meant time-and-a-half for work done on a Saturday. Meanwhile, here he was attempting to save the ten pounds of salmon fillets he'd picked up on sale at the Hy-Vee grocery last week.

Frank had decided he might as well cook up half of the fish and make patties. Which is where he hoped the third time charm would come in. The first mixture hadn't come out right. It was edible though and he supposed he could feed it to that little stray cat that had taken up residence underneath the back porch. He was a cute critter and had Frank on the cusp of carrying him to the vet to have him fixed before inviting him into the house. The second batch hadn't been much better and had ended up in a container to be used as a sandwich spread or a salad. This third and final batch might make the grade if he was lucky. For the life of him he couldn't figure out what he was doing wrong.

He glanced up from the mixture his hands were mired in when Mary Ann McAllister walked back into the kitchen. Frank couldn't help but pause in his chore to admire her trim form, the chestnut hair that exhibited nary a strand of gray and the dark hazel eyes which at the moment held an expression somewhere between amused and curious. She looked very pretty in her yellow house dress that showed off the light sunburn she'd acquired at the church picnic the previous Sunday.

"A telegram..." She waved a little envelope. "And a very impressive looking box of cigars." She set a white box, encircled with a wide pink ribbon, on the kitchen table and somewhat doubtfully extended the telegram to Frank as she watched him form a patty that didn't seem to want to remain in one piece. From the look of the thing she decided maybe he should have added an extra egg to the mix this time.

Frank's eyebrows rose. White Owl. He smiled reminiscently as he recalled the last time he'd received a box of cigars. If memory served him it had been almost two years since Pete had given him that nice box of Romeo y Julieta brand that the PI had in turn been given by a Texas rancher who had hired him to solve his brother's murder. That recollection brought a niggle of something to the back of Frank's mind.

"Oh, sugarfoot! Father's Day is this Sunday isn't it? They must be from Pete." He looked at his fishy hands and decided there was no way he was cleaning up just to have to start over again. "I can't seem to drum into his stubborn head that he doesn't need to send me anything, that his phone call is the only present I need, but he doesn't listen." His glance found the cigar box again "That pink ribbon's a real eyebrow-raiser though. How about you open that telegram and tell me what it says."

"Are you sure?" As close as she and Frank had become over the past year or so it still seemed a bit odd to open a piece of his mail, even if he was standing right in front of her.

"Sure I'm sure." Frank chuckled.

She slid her finger beneath the flap of the small envelope and removed the paper from inside, silently reading the short message and then casting a dubious glance at the man.

"Well? What does the boy have to say?" He scooped another lump of salmon from the bowl and shaped it into a ball before flattening it between his palms, his deep blue eyes twinkling as he looked up from his task. "Did he make some dumb joke about my age again? Let's see..." He scraped the bowl of the remaining mix, his brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities. "Maybe something about aging well like an old cigar? Or my lifetime of experience making me almost as wise as the owl on that box? I fail to understand why how old I am has anything to do with Father's Day."

Mary Ann offered a weak chuckle, gave another look at the message and then read it out loud, the inflection of her voice almost turning the words into a question.

" _Congratulations. It's a girl. Will be in contact when we return home. Enjoy the cigars._ "

Frank's smile slowly faded to be replaced by a perplexed frown which in turn transformed into a chuckle.

"Sounds like a Father's Day telegram all right, just not for me." He stepped to the sink, stuck his hands under running water and then grabbed a red and white checked dish towel to dry them off. "Would appear it was delivered to the wrong house. Who sent it?"

"It doesn't say. But it's addressed to Mr. F. Gunn at 3001 Huntington Road, Des Moines, Iowa. That's you and that's your address."

Frank came to stand behind her, reading the telegram over her shoulder before reaching for it to give it closer scrutiny.

"Hmm." He scratched his head and ran his fingers through graying hair that still showed evidence of the same velvety black hue as his son's. "It was sent at 3:19 this afternoon from Westport, Connecticut. That would have been 2:19 our time." Frank took a look at his wristwatch, which told him it was just past 2:30. "That certainly was fast service. But I'm afraid I don't know a single soul from Connecticut. Do you know anyone from Connecticut?" He raised his eyebrows inquisitively, a little smile playing on his lips.

"Well, no I don't think–" She caught herself and heaved an aggrieved sigh. "Very funny."

"There's obviously been some kind of mix-up. Maybe the cigar box can shed some light on the situation." Frank dropped the telegram to the table and picked up the box. "I don't like the thought of being a snoop but there might be a note or something else inside that can help identify who these should have been delivered to. Ha! Delivered!" He gave a bark of laughter. "Get it? It's a girl? Baby girl? Delivered?"

Mary Ann rolled her eyes and shook her head sadly as Frank grabbed a small steak knife from a drawer and gently slit through the seal and opened the box. Resting atop the contents was a cardboard placard featuring a white owl with its wings spread, an over-sized cigar serving as its perch. A pink blanket holding a newborn dangled from the bird's beak and the words _Proud Papa Package_ were printed directly beneath. Frank flipped the placard over, hoping to find something written on the back or perhaps a separate card, but was disappointed. He lifted out a cigar and smiled as he showed it to Mary Ann. It featured a red, blue and gold band sporting the brand name and was wrapped in cellophane with IT'S A GIRL! imprinted boldly along its length. Someone was very lucky, he decided, welcoming a baby girl into their family. He suddenly wished the cigars _were_ for him. A granddaughter would be a nice thing to have. Hopefully one day... He sighed. If only that son of his would get the lead out!

Saying he would call the telegraph office to alert them to the problem, Frank replaced the cigar and closed the box. Not finding the telephone number of the local office on either the telegram or the envelope, he went into the living room and pulled the phone book from the top drawer of his writing desk, quickly riffling through the yellow pages. His hand was on the receiver when the doorbell rang for the second time in less than half an hour. A college-aged kid wearing a Western Union uniform and cap stood on the front step.

"Mr. Frank Gunn?" The kid's voice cracked a little when he spoke.

"Speak of the devil! I was just about to phone you folks but I guess you already figured out the mistake."

The young man seemed confused.

"Are you the same fellow who delivered a telegram and package here a short time ago?" Frank prompted and the messenger gave a nod. "They were sent to Mr. F. Gunn at this address but they were obviously meant for someone else."

Mary Ann appeared by his side with the items in question and the messenger gave them a cursory glance but made no effort to reclaim them.

"Are you Mr. F. Gunn?" the kid asked.

"Well, I'm _a_ Mr. F. Gunn," the man admitted.

"Are there any other F. Gunns in town?"

"I'm sure there aren't but I know for certain there's a Fred Gunn in – "

"Is that your correct address on both items?" the messenger interrupted.

"Yes, but – "

"Does Fred Gunn live here?"

"No, but – "

"Then you'll have to take it up with the main office, sir. I can only deliver the telegrams, I can't take them back. But I do have another one here for you," he said, handing Frank an envelope. "Would you please sign this acknowledgment of delivery?" The messenger pulled a ballpoint pen from behind his ear and extended it and a small clipboard with a form attached. "If you're sure you're you, of course," he added under his breath in what might be construed a snicker.

Frank offered up a dark look and watched the kid's shoulders shake with laughter as he went down the walk to the curb where his scooter was parked, almost wishing he'd kept the fifty cents he'd handed him as a tip, then shut the door with a sigh. He looked at the small envelope.

"Mr. Frank Gunn," he read out loud and gave Mary Ann an amused grimace. "Maybe this one is actually for me." He pulled out the message, rolled his eyes and flipped it around for the woman to see. "Again from Westport, Connecticut." His eyes followed the words of the message, then he scowled and shook his head and handed the piece of paper to Mary Ann.

" _Wish we could be with you Sunday. Hope you like your Father's Day gift. Would like to see your face when you find out what it is. Should warn you though necessitated license and will require some TLC. Pete."_ She read the words out loud and gave him a smile. "It sounds like your son is playing a game of riddle-me-this."

"Would appear that way," Frank said with a chuckle. Letting out a long sigh he grasped her hand and turned her in the direction of the kitchen, suggesting they fry up a batch of those salmon patties and put their thinking caps on over a very late lunch.

They shared the patties, part of a bag of tater tots - something Frank had just recently discovered in the new item section of the grocery store and found both delectable and easy, as only an old bachelor could - that had somehow managed to remain frozen, a mixed salad with a creamy blue cheese dressing and for dessert some butter pecan ice cream that had been wedged into the tiny refrigerator freezer for safekeeping.

"A license and tender loving care."

In the middle of soaping the frying pan, Frank glanced back at Mary Ann. Her brow was furrowed as she re-read the second telegram for what must have been the twentieth time. It was lined up on the kitchen table alongside the first telegram and the cigar box.

"Maybe it's another beagle to replace Clementine," his lady friend suggested. "When he and Edie visited you at Thanksgiving I know he sensed how much you missed that dog."

"That's a good thought," the man smiled. "And it's certainly something Pete would think to do. But how does one send a dog in the mail?"

"He does know who most of your close friends are doesn't he? He could have asked one of them for help finding one here in town." She laughed and shook her head at Frank's suddenly suspicious expression. "Don't look at me, it was only a suggestion. And Pete didn't say he mailed it, just that he..." she looked again at the message, "...hopes you like it when you find out what it is."

Frank heaved what sounded liked an irate sigh but a smile tilted his lips.

"There are times that boy can be a major pain in the–"

He stopped himself before accidentally uttering a word he didn't consider proper for polite conversation with a lady. Setting the last plate in the dish rack to air dry, he wiped his hands on the dish towel and then plopped himself down on a chair kitty-corner to his guest.

"He knows exactly how to yank my chain and darn if he doesn't enjoy doing it." Frank rested his elbow on the table and cupped his chin in his hand and made an annoyed face. "What I don't quite understand is how the first message fits in. Or whether it does at all. Maybe that one actually _was_ meant for someone else."

"But both were sent from the same place, honey. That can't be a coincidence."

Frank smiled at the way she called him honey and neglected to answer. All things taken into account, this had been a fine afternoon. Hopefully he could entice her to stay until this evening so he could take her out to supper. As he opened his mouth to say just that the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house. With a resigned sigh Frank excused himself to answer the door, half afraid of who might be standing on the stoop. Just as he feared it was the kid from Western Union again.

"Mr. Frank Gunn?"

"You know I am," Frank said in a cranky tone. "This is the third time you've been here in the past hour. My name hasn't changed."

"I still have to ask, Mr. Gunn."

The messenger handed him an envelope and extended his clipboard for a signature. With a tip of his cap he wished Frank a good day, leaving the older man rooted in the doorway scratching his head, his face a picture of perplexity. He finally closed the door and went back to the kitchen to be greeted by Mary Ann's inquisitive face. With a sigh and a shake of his head he offered the envelope to her.

"How about you do the honors again? I'm not sure I can take all the excitement," Frank lamented with a good-natured tilt of his lips. He sat down and leaned back in his chair and watched her face as she silently read the message.

"Well? Does it throw any light on things?"

Mary Ann admitted she wasn't sure and proceeded to read the message to him.

" _Have you tied the clues together yet? Need a couple more? It's not really such a knotty problem. Just put two and two together. Home Monday unless we run into a hitch. Will give you a ring when we get there or you are free to call. We don't stand on ceremony around here. Love from both. Edie and Pete._ " She glanced across at Frank, watching as he turned the words over in his mind. "It was sent from the same place at 4:19."

Frank raked his fingers through his hair with an aggrieved motion, rested his forearm on the table and began to tap his fingers on the grainy oak surface. A grin split Mary Ann's face at the man's expression. His face told her very clearly that if his son was anywhere within reaching distance he'd have him by the ear and wouldn't let go until he promised to be a good boy.

"Frank – "

"I can't blame the way he is on anyone but myself."

"Frank, have you – "

"He just can't help himself," he sighed.

"Frank?"

"He takes great delight in tormenting me with his – "

"Francis Patrick Gunn!" She finally got his attention. "Doesn't this message sound a bit peculiar to you?"

"Of course it does." He took the piece of paper from the woman's fingers and placed it on the table alongside the others. "He made sure of that. It's part of the aforementioned torment. Pete always says he inherited his penchant for curiosity from me and that if he's smart enough to figure things out I should be, too. Unfortunately he forgets that his brain is a lot younger than mine."

Mary Ann smiled and patted Frank on the shoulder as she stepped past him, commenting that she'd made fresh coffee. A short minute later, sugar and milk spooned into steaming mugs, the two sat side by side looking at the items neatly placed before them.

"Let's see what we can deduce." Frank's fingers started tapping a rhythmic monotone on the table top as one pair of blue eyes and one pair of hazel scrutinized the evidence. His head tilted toward hers and he gave a teasing half-smile. "Anything in particular jump out at you?"

"Well..." the woman murmured, almost to herself. "All three telegrams were sent from the same town in Connecticut. Pete says _we_ in two of the telegrams so obviously Edie's with him." With a tap of a finger she indicated the time on each. "And they were sent exactly thirty minutes apart."

Frank winked, touched his nose with his forefinger and pointed at her.

"I'm impressed. I hereby initiate you as a member of the Gunn Family Curiosity Club."

"Why would they be in Connecticut? Does Edie have family there?"

"Not that I'm aware. Her parents live in Erie and I think her brother is in Buffalo." Frank pondered silently. "The first telegram isn't signed, the second is signed by Pete and the third has both their names on it."

"Do you think that means anything?" Mary Ann asked and made a face when Frank did nothing but shrug. "And I still don't understand about the cigars and about it being a girl, unless I'm right and you've got a new puppy in your future. That's tantamount to adding a new member to the family."

"Tantamount?" Frank smiled. He supposed that's what he got for falling in love with an English teacher. His eyes unconsciously widened at the unbidden thought. He had felt it in his heart, known it in his mind, for quite some time. But his brain had never put it into those words before. His smile broadened and he saw a quizzical look in her eyes as she looked at him and he was brought out of his daze, not just by the expression on her face but by those last words she'd uttered.

Frank reached over for the third telegram and pulled his reading glasses from his pocket. If what he thought he saw was what he saw then it called for closer scrutiny. He frowned hard at the message then picked up a pencil from the counter and began underlining words on the paper. Then he did the same with the first two.

"Frank? What's wrong?"

He wondered what Mary Ann saw in his face that had her asking him that question.

"Nothing's wrong, nothing at all. In fact everything's fine. Everything is as it should be." His lips tilted in another smile. "As a matter of fact, as Robert Browning put it, God's in His heaven, all's right with the world."

Frank slid the pieces of paper in her direction, watched as she read them each again in light of the marks he'd made, saw her face clear as sudden comprehension dawned. He cast a glance at his wristwatch.

"Unless I'm mistaken that messenger boy is bound to show up at the front door again within the next few minutes." He got to his feet. "Why don't we go wait for him?"

The man made a quick detour to his bedroom, picked up his wallet from where it lay on top of the bureau and extracted a paper bill. He gave it a close look, chuckled to himself, stuck the bill in his pocket and found his way to the living room just as the doorbell rang for what seemed the umpteenth time that afternoon. Just as he'd predicted, there standing on the porch was the same Western Union delivery kid who'd paid a visit three times that day already. Without a word Frank accepted the telegram, pulled the five dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the kid, took the clipboard from his suddenly unresponsive hand, scrawled his name on the attached form, handed it back, wished the boy a good afternoon and gently closed the door. At least a full minute passed before the sound of footsteps could be heard walking across the porch and down the three steps to the walk. Frank peered out the window as the boy reached the scooter parked at the curb then gave a loud guffaw as the kid held the five-spot out and upward to catch the sunlight as if trying to decide if it was real or counterfeit.

A smile continued to play around Frank's lips as he opened the flap and removed the bit of paper from the small envelope. His eyes softened as he read the printed words.

WESTPORT CT 1961 JUN 16 4:49P EDT

MR FRANK GUNN

3001 HUNTINGTON RD DES MOINES IA

SHE FINALLY MADE AN HONEST MAN OUT OF ME.

HOPEFULLY THIS RANKS RIGHT UP THERE WITH THE FLY ROD OF THREE YEARS AGO. MUCH LOVE AND HAPPY FATHERS DAY.

YOUR SON AND DAUGHTER IN LAW.

Frank read the message through a second time and then a third before turning his face to Mary Ann and extending his arm to offer it to her.

"A new member of the family indeed."

* * *

 _(Referenced Episode: Pete solves the murder of Texas rancher Clay Baxter's brother in "Pecos Pete" S1 EP20.)_


	6. All Roads Lead to Home

**Peter Gunn, Edie Hart and other characters from the original series unfortunately don't belong to me, nor do I make any financial gain from this story. But that doesn't mean I can't play with the characters and make them do what I want them to do. Most of the time. If I ask nicely. Actually they usually just do what they want and rarely listen to me.**

 _Many thanks to those who've read, commented or reviewed. Writing for these characters is a joy in itself, but knowing that others enjoy them too makes it all worthwhile._

 **That's a Sneaky Way to Propose**

 **Chapter 6: All Roads Lead to Home**

How could she be so nervous? Edie Hart checked the full length mirror in the little room next to the office of the Justice of the Peace. The Town Clerk had suggested the officiant at the point during the marriage license application process that they'd been asked for the name and title of the person who would be performing the ceremony. Just another of the small details she and Pete hadn't thought about. But that was okay, so far they'd managed to figure things out, with a slight bump in the road now and again.

Technically Pete should be the nervous one. Peter Gunn, grand master of avoidance in every instance where the subject of marriage came up, should be the one experiencing the hand wringing, heart thumping, palm sweating, breath stealing nervousness she was currently feeling. But no. He was cool as a cucumber. As a matter of fact he'd actually been humming as he got dressed earlier, following the relaxing shower they'd managed to share. He'd donned his favorite black suit that he'd brought with him, a brand new white Brooks Brothers shirt that he'd taken from the closet still in its store wrapping, a narrow black silk tie from the same maker as the shirt that was less business and more ceremonial than his usual neckwear and a shiny pair of formal black shoes. Then he sat and watched her as she finished with her makeup and gathered her dress and accessories to carry with her. She'd caught him staring a few times, something he hadn't outgrown in the several years that had passed since those first early days of their relationship. She often wondered what he saw when he looked at her like that. At times it was obvious, his lips tilting in a little smile that telegraphed his thoughts, other times his eyes held one of those unfathomable looks at which he was such an expert.

Sometimes though that expertise escaped him. Edie smiled into the mirror remembering Pete's floored expression when she told him she wanted to get married right away. He'd quickly recovered, as he usually managed to do, but she had found the look on his face both endearing and amusing...

* * *

 _Pete wondered if he'd heard right. His eyes widened the tiniest bit and his lips parted just a fraction before an expression of bland amusement covered his face. Those same eyes crinkled at the corners and those same lips tilted in a little smile as he gazed into the face of the woman still seated on his lap._

" _Tonight?" He raised his eyebrows._

" _We could drive somewhere right now," Edie murmured with an encouraging smile, her fingers cool on the back of his neck, her cornflower blue eyes gazing into his. "Tonight. We could find a Justice of the Peace in some nice little town and get married."_

" _I'm sorry to burst your bubble, dear heart," Pete chuckled, leaning in to place a kiss just below her right ear before giving her a bemused smile. "That sort of thing only happens in the movies. In real life a person has to get a license and you can't do that in the middle of the night. And in most cases there's at least a twenty-four hour waiting period before you can actually get married."_

" _Why?" Her voice was a teasing drawl, her lips curved in an innocent smile and her eyes twinkled with mischief._

" _To allow the effects of John Barleycorn to wear off," Pete muttered, his blue gaze lazily roaming her face. "There's nothing quite like overindulging and then waking up the next morning with an impulsive marriage hanging over your head." His eyes were brimming with dry amusement. "Or so I've heard."_

" _Fine," the blonde sighed with a beguiling curve of her lips. "We can drive somewhere and get a license and have our honeymoon in the between time. We'll spend the waiting period getting to know each other." Her voice was a soft tease and she tapped her index finger on his chin. "Find out if we're compatible."_

" _A one day honeymoon?" Pete's lips twitched as he tried not to laugh. "Seems a waste."_

" _Well..." She trailed her finger along the angle of his chin and pondered. "You said you asked Leslie to hold down the fort until Monday." A big smile crept across the woman's face. "We could find a nice little secluded inn somewhere in the middle of nowhere and stay through the weekend. Just the two of us, together, by ourselves." Her arms crawled around his neck and she leaned in to kiss him. "Wouldn't that be nice? No telephones to answer, no crimes to solve, no cranky chefs to soothe? We'd never even have to get out of bed if we didn't want to."_

 _His eyes searched her expression._

" _Are you sure that's what you want?" the PI quietly asked. "Not the never getting out of bed part," he hurried with a puckish grin when she looked at him quizzically. "You won't get an argument from me there." His left hand was warm against her lower back and he traced lazy circles on her skin. "No big wedding, no fancy dress, no family and friends? Not to mention it'll give Mama twice as much reason not to like me," he winked._

" _Then I'll just have to love you twice as much," Edie responded affectionately, placing a kiss on his mouth. "I don't need a big wedding, I happen to have a dress that will do just fine and as much as I love our friends and family the only person who needs to be there with me is you." It was her turn to study his face. "Unless you want something else."_

" _I want whatever you want." His arms tightened around her. "What do you say we pack a few things and go somewhere?"_

 _Sometime between looking through the bathroom cabinets for the fresh tube of Crest that Edie was certain they'd picked up the previous week at Miller's Rexall, and Pete checking in with his answering service to advise them he'd be unavailable until Monday evening, they suddenly realized they had a dog and cat that needed to be cared for while they were away. The guppies would fend for themselves with one of those blocks of fish food the man at the pet store was experimenting with. Three minutes of proverbial head-scratching and literal eye-rolling ensued before they made arrangements to leave the two animals with Mother. Not only did Mother always welcome the opportunity to do a good deed for two of her favorite people, she was also one of their only friends who would either be awake or not working at two in the morning. The old woman and her calico cat welcomed the almost three year old Thomas when Pete opened the flap and let him out of the cat carrier. And she was agog over the little brown dachshund, declaring as she escorted her visitors out the door that she just might kidnap the little guy for herself._

" _Pete?"_

" _Hmm."_

" _Do you think Mother was suspicious?"_

 _Pete glanced over at Edie in the passenger seat of the big Plymouth Fury. The dim glow of the intermittent streetlights outside cast a golden halo around her head as they passed beneath them and the little white lights from the instrument panel created a cozy warmth inside the automobile. It was that certain almost indescribable feeling that a person got only when driving along mostly deserted roadways into the dark hours of late night and early morning._

" _Suspicious?"_

" _She kept giving us odd looks. You didn't notice?"_

" _What kind of odd looks?" Pete hid a smile as he turned onto Highway 9._

" _Suspicious Mother odd looks. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."_

" _Sure I do. But when you're in the room I only have eyes for you. She could have been tap dancing on the window sill and I wouldn't have noticed."_

" _You're a nut."_

 _Pete gave a chuckle and reached for her hand, the ring on her finger giving it a new and different feel as he laced his fingers through hers, and Edie slid across the big seat to sit against his shoulder. She wondered where they were headed and though it really didn't matter she asked anyway. The PI admitted he wasn't sure, but he figured they'd know to stop when they got there._

* * *

Peter Gunn reached up a hand to straighten his tie, or maybe it was just habit as it really wasn't in need of straightening. He was nervous. It might not be obvious to the officiant or his nice wife, who served as his unpaid part-time secretary, or the elderly gentleman from the camera shop next door who also served as a photographer should those being married wish for pictures. Pete wished. Pete wished for many, many photos and paid in advance for postage, backing and anything else necessary as well as handing the man a generous tip which he initially refused but eventually accepted at the PI's insistence.

Pop would want pictures, if Pop was still talking to him once he found out that he hadn't been invited to his own son's wedding. His dad would talk to Edie though. Whatever the kerfuffle Frank Gunn was always willing to talk to his 'daughter'. Mama and Papa Hart would want pictures, whether or not Mama was willing to admit it. Mary Grace would pretend not to care and would let Joe be the one on the receiving end but she'd be happy to have the photos. She might even stoop to putting one in a frame and setting it in some marginally obvious place in the living room for visitors to see, or maybe hang one on the wall in their long downstairs hall to nestle amongst the rest of the family. Hopefully she wouldn't take a scissors to it and remove any vestige of her new son-in-law.

The PI glanced at his wristwatch and unobtrusively shuffled his feet as he removed his other hand from his pants pocket and wondered to himself if he should go give the door a knock to let Edie know it was almost time...

* * *

 _Gladys Anderson looked up from straightening a short stack of papers on her desk. If she was being honest with herself she would admit she was trying to look busy even though it was barely eleven o'clock in the morning. She had only been at work for a few hours but could already tell it was going to be another one of those slow as molasses Thursdays that had her seriously considering wasting half a day of her vacation time for no other reason than pure boredom. Her gaze strayed to the outer door as it opened, swinging inward with a small squeak of its hinges, the words 'Town Clerk' painted in big block letters on the frosted glass. The sight of the tall, dark and handsome gentleman who entered had Gladys deciding today might not be a total waste after all. She stood and quickly approached the shiny dark oak counter that partitioned the business area from the waiting area, running a hand over her light brown hair in the process._

" _May I help you?" She smiled widely, almost perfect white teeth appearing between full lips painted in a popular light red of the day. In her late twenties, Gladys Anderson was a pretty brown-eyed girl who garnered her fair share of attention from the men about town._

" _We were directed here to apply for a marriage license," the man said._

 _We? For the first time Gladys noticed the woman who accompanied the man. She was a pretty blonde. That figured. Wasn't it always a blonde? An inward sigh accompanied the thought that maybe the woman colored her hair, but a close, and hopefully unobserved, inspection told her that wasn't the case. She briefly wondered why she was having such catty thoughts about a woman she'd never met before. She returned her gaze to the man._

" _This is the right place. Will the license be for the two of you?" Now wasn't that a dumb question? She turned her back on the couple and took a few steps to a file cabinet from which she pulled a blank form, hoping the hot flush she'd felt stealing over her face after her inane query would go away by the time she turned around._

" _Yes it will, Miss... Anderson." The man's gaze touched briefly on the name tag pinned just above the pocket of her blouse as she slid the marriage license application across the counter._

" _Miss Gladys Anderson. I'm Deputy Town Clerk." Even without looking she could feel the woman's blue eyes staring at her with kind amusement._

 _She offered another smile and handed them pens and stated the forms of identification required from each of them, adding that she'd be happy to answer any questions relating to the application. Her eyes studied the manner in which the man reached beneath the fine gray material of what was obviously not a cheap suit, producing a soft black leather wallet from the inside pocket and removing his driver's license, which he handed to her along with his passport. She gave the driver's license a glance. The description on the card fit him perfectly. The green passport booklet appeared well traveled and the black and white photo inside was about as flattering as most such photos were. Both gave his name as Peter Gunn. She smiled to herself, deciding it fit, then laid the IDs to one side and returned her attention to the couple. The woman had her purse up on the counter and was digging through it while the man began filling in the blanks on the application form, a little smile tilting his lips._

 _Peter Gunn gave a quick glance to the woman beside him as he printed his name on the first line of the left side of the application for the marriage license. His blue eyes held a hint of amusement as he paused to watch her sift through the items in her handbag and come up with a small coin purse she'd tucked inside. A handbag wasn't something one normally associated with Edie Hart. She usually carried whatever essentials she needed – keys, lipstick, money – in the pocket of her sweater or coat. Or she stuck them in one of his suit pockets, something that had caused him some small embarrassment on more than one occasion. So he for one was glad she'd deemed it necessary to bring a purse._

 _He looked back at the form again and filled in his date of birth. Next to that it asked for his age, which seemed redundant, but he wrote down 35 anyway. His gaze found Edie again, straying as it so often did to the soft features that were etched in his heart. He watched her unsnap the side pocket of her small coin purse, a clasped pouch of black adorned with red roses and silvery green leaves, and take out her driver's license and slide it across the counter. She followed it up with her own passport which she retrieved from a zippered compartment in her handbag, giving the clerk a friendly smile as she handed it over. It continually amazed him that he'd had the good fortune of spending the past three of his thirty-five years with this woman._

 _Working his way down the form he entered the requested information pertaining to his place of birth, occupation, current address, father's name and mother's maiden name. He indicated his marital status as single then frowned at the next bit of information the form required. Number of marriages. What exactly did that mean?_

" _Have you ever been married?" the helpful Miss Anderson asked in reply to his query._

 _Edie muttered something under her breath that he couldn't make out and chose to ignore anyway. He answered in the negative and was told to indicate this was his first foray into wedded bliss. Not in those words of course._

" _And last," Edie added for good measure. "Be sure to put that down, too." She removed her glasses from her purse, holding them loosely in her hand as she leaned against Pete's shoulder to get a closer look at what he was doing. The PI decided the purse must be a bottomless pit based on the number of items that had come out and gone back in during the ten minutes they'd been standing there. The entire thing was very un-Edie-like, as if she'd come prepared for anything and everything. That was a little scary. "Do I need to be doing any of that?"_

" _Nice handbag," he commented, completing his side of the application and giving half an ear to the clerk as she told him it was perfectly fine for him to complete the entire top portion of the form as long as they both attested by their signatures that the information was correct. She retrieved the proofs of identification they'd both handed over and took them to an older lady who entered the room from a side door._

" _I bought it a few Saturdays ago when I was out shopping with Sheila and Lauren. You were still in Acapulco and I had nothing better to do." The purse was big but not overly large, black and white with a heavy gold-colored closure. Edie watched the nib of Pete's pen hover over the line asking for her occupation. "I think I must be channeling Mama. She's always had a thing about purses," she smiled._

 _Pete gave her a sideways look. He liked Edie's mother but so far the woman hadn't found it within her own heart to return the favor. And he had a feeling Mary Grace Hart wouldn't be any happier with him when she found out he'd run off with her daughter to get married. Of course it hadn't been his idea and he could always tell her that but Peter Gunn wasn't one to shift the blame to anyone else for something in which he was a more than willing participant._

 _Edie elbowed him in the ribs and he turned his head. She'd put on her cats-eye glasses with the tortoiseshell frames that she'd gotten about six months ago, replacing the black-framed ones from the year before when the doctor decided it would do her well to have them for reading. Pete didn't know why but he found those darn glasses unbelievably sexy. She fluttered her eyelashes at him from behind the lenses and offered a flirtatious grin._

" _Edith June," he softly admonished, pursing his lips and trying to hold back a smile as he turned his attention back to the application. "Behave yourself."_

" _Now **you're** channeling Mama."_

" _Heaven forbid."_

 _Miss Anderson returned to the counter, trailing a step or two behind the older lady who handed them back their driver's licenses and passports while introducing herself as Mrs. Dot Cunningham, Official Town Clerk. Taking possession of the completed application she scrutinized the required answers. One dark brown eyebrow went up and she glanced up at Pete._

" _You list your occupation as..." Her gaze dropped to the form. "Man for Hire?"_

" _Yes, ma'am." He sensed Edie looking at him, her face breaking into a nostalgic smile._

" _What exactly does that mean?"_

" _Just what it says."_

 _The woman stared at Pete and seemed to want to say something more but refrained, her blue eyes looking him up and down, lingering contemplatively on his tailored gray suit and not inexpensive tie, and then returning to the piece of paper. She looked at the pretty blonde standing beside the man. Girl singer? Obviously she was a girl, that part of the job description wasn't necessary. She said as much, in a kindly manner, then proceeded to complete the pertinent information required in the next portion of the form, thereby missing the way the young woman's smile became even bigger and the manner in which her eyes softened with affection as she continued to gaze at her companion._

" _Oh, Pete..." Edie's hands framed the PI's face and she leaned up to kiss him, not caring at the audience they had as her lips clung to his for many long seconds before she pulled away, leaving him with a bemused smile. It took two very loud clearings of the throat by the woman behind the counter to regain their attention._

" _Do you– " the woman glanced down at the form one more time, "–Peter James Gunn and Edith June Hart, the individuals named in this marriage license, solemnly swear that the statements made therein are true in accordance with the General Statutes of the State of Connecticut?"_

 _They swore, they signed and Pete dug in his pants pocket for some bills to pay the fee._

" _Will this be a religious ceremony or a civil ceremony?" The clerk pulled a receipt book from a drawer and continued before either could answer. "If it's a religious ceremony the bottom portion of the form will be completed by your clergyman and the signatures of two witnesses will be required. If it's a civil ceremony the officiant will fill in the form and no witnesses will be necessary as the ceremony will be performed by a legal entity of the state. In either case the person who performs the ceremony will file the certificate of marriage with this office and a copy will be mailed to you within a week to ten days." She accepted Pete's money and handed over proof of payment and put the receipt book back where it belonged. Not receiving an answer to her original question she leaned forward with her arms folded on the counter top and gave them a kind smile. "You'll find a Justice of the Peace on the second floor of the courthouse across the street. Mr. Emerson, Room 204. If you go over right now you shouldn't have a problem setting a time for tomorrow afternoon."_

* * *

Taking a steadying breath, Edie Hart opened the door of the small room and stepped into the little foyer, pulling the door shut behind her. Her heels made a tip-tap on the wooden floor as she walked into the office and the sound of low voices that had provided a soft background noise as she'd been changing clothes came to an abrupt halt. She watched Pete straighten from where he'd been leaning one hip against the officiant's old oak desk and slowly take his hands from his pockets. He clasped them easily in front of him as he looked at her, his eyes roaming from her blonde hair that she'd deftly coiffed into a loose style down to the light pink high heels she wore, but lingering on what was in between.

Edie knew there was something special about the dress she was wearing the moment her best friend Sheila Bell had shown it to her six months ago at Francine's Boutique. She'd purchased it on the spot, without even trying it on and at a price that was considerably more than she normally would spend on a dress. It fit her perfectly. The satin skirt went below her knees, hugging her curves just right, and the bodice was made of lace, leaving no doubt as to her femininity. A wide belt cinched at her waist flawlessly coordinated the materials of the top and bottom and the deep rose pink color of the dress emphasized her fair skin and cornflower blue eyes. She had immediately known exactly what Pete's reaction would be when he saw her wearing it (hopefully that overwhelming curiosity of his hadn't had him peeking beneath the paper and plastic that covered it as it hung with her other special dresses in the closet) and the way he gazed at her as she moved to stand in front of him told her she'd been totally on the mark. His voice said to her, "You've never looked prettier," but those eyes were telling her he couldn't wait to explore the mysteries of the dress and what lay beneath the soft pink material.

She watched Pete twist around and reach behind him, his hand holding a small bouquet of flowers when he turned back to face her. White and pink carnations and white daisies and the tiny white flowers of baby's breath. A surprised smile lit her face and the man, easily reading the question in her eyes, told her that while she changed clothes he'd run down to the little flower shop next door for the flowers. "Looks like I picked the right colors," he said, adding that he wanted to do something right to make up for the various little things that seemed to have gone wrong...

* * *

 _The bed squeaked. That's all Pete could think about. He couldn't move a muscle without_ _eliciting a groan from one spring or another. A stealthy sideways glance afforded him a clear view of Edie's face. Though the cream-colored Venetian blinds were pulled all the way down, the slats were pointed outward, allowing strips of afternoon sunlight to paint odd patterns on the rumpled blue sheet and light hotel blanket that he'd pulled up to cover them. Edie looked to be sound asleep, eyelashes dark smudges against her cheeks. He wished he could say the same for himself – insomnia seemed to be the word of the day for him lately – but every time he attempted to get into a comfortable position the squeaking started back up again. The hotel mattress was nice and firm but the springs obviously needed some lubrication. Pete smiled as his mind wandered. Maybe the bed had grown tired due to lack of use. Maybe it was out of practice. He chuckled and the mattress vibrated and the squeaking started again which made him laugh harder and in turn intensified the noise._

 _The mattress jiggled and groaned louder and a slim hand clamped itself over his mouth as the woman beside him rolled onto her side and lifted up on her elbow to look down at him. Her hair was sleep-tousled and her eyes were tired and her lips were pursed but he could see the laughter trembling there at the corners of her mouth._

" _Stop it, Pete!" She tried to make her voice stern but the smirk the man gave her as she removed her hand said she had failed miserably. "I know you're doing that on purpose."_

" _I'd rather be doing something else." He rolled to face her, his left arm going beneath her as he pulled her close with his right, wrapping her in a tight embrace and finding her lips with his as the box spring gave a tortured groan, this time bringing laughter from both of them._

 _After crossing into Connecticut they'd stopped at three of those secluded little inns Edie had mentioned. The first had looked extremely inviting, two detours off of Route 15 in a scenic woodland area. Pete had pulled into the main lot at just after 8:00 AM and found the manager in the little office, a kind elderly sort who'd been sorry to say they were full up but had directed him to another place about ten miles further along the main road. It was the same song, same verse when Pete went inside inquiring about one of the fine looking bungalows advertised on the big white sign. Further directions led them to the third place, sparkling new in the early morning sunlight. The manager at this place was sorry too, taking the time to explain that it was summer in Connecticut after all. Places filled up fast once school let out. He'd been helpful enough though and recommended a nice hotel in downtown Westport and gave them instructions on finding the proper exit. Which is how they came to be where they were at the moment, in an extremely nice hotel in a very nice room that just happened to have the squeakiest bed on the east coast._

" _Pete."_

" _We'll check out tomorrow afternoon," the PI promised. They'd dropped their luggage in the room after arriving at the hotel and then headed right back out to find the office of the Town Clerk. By the time they located the office, completed the forms, paid a visit to the JP to set up an appointment for the following afternoon and then stopped for a very late lunch at a little eatery a few blocks from the courthouse, they were too tired to do anything other than fall into bed with a promise to each other that they'd get the sleep they had missed the previous night._

" _Nothing will change will it?" Edie murmured drowsily. "When we're married?"_

" _Sure it will." Pete tried to hide a smile at the flustered look of concern that crinkled her forehead, then he pulled her closer when she tried to lean away to get a better look at his face. "My income taxes will go down." His chest shook and the bed gave a groan as he chuckled._

 _Edie rolled her eyes. Then a slow smile curved her lips and her arms slipped around his neck, her hands warm against his skin as her fingers played with his hair. The smile was replaced with an earnest, teasing expression._

" _If you're so worried about **our** taxes – ," she stressed with an exasperated narrowing of her eyes, then the teasing returned, "– perhaps we should begin working on our first little deduction. Just think of all the money **that** would save."_

 _Edie smiled brightly and then her arms tightened around Pete's neck and her lips were on his, soft yet demanding. It would have been easy to succumb to those lips, the sweet aroma that was all Edie, the silky smoothness of her skin hidden by the almost as silky light blue nightie, but the man somehow managed to resist her spell. He broke the kiss, his fingers weaving through her hair as he stared at her flushed face._

" _We can't."_

" _What?" She squinted at him with perplexed eyes, the sunlight creeping slowly up the bed turning her blonde hair into a golden halo. "Why not?"_

" _The bed squeaks." He rolled over to lay half on top of her, illustrating his point by the noises elicited from the mattress, and gave her a wink. "Whatever would the people in the next room think?"_

" _That we're having a lot more fun than they are," the blonde smugly answered. "Pete–"_

" _One battle at a time, honey." He dipped his face against the curve of her shoulder and placed a kiss on the side of her chin. "Whatever you want. But what do you say we talk about it tomorrow."_

" _Fine," she lamented with a drawn-out sigh. "But you just wait, mister. Once that ring's on my finger I don't want to hear any excuses."_

 _The lips trailing across her collarbone stilled._

" _Ring?" Pete lifted his head and gave her a blank look._

 _Wrestling the sheet and blanket aside, he twisted around to sit on the side of the bed and grabbed the telephone book out of the little drawer in the bedside table. With an inward laugh he wondered if he might also want to reach for the Gideon Bible that was beside it in the drawer and say a little prayer. He flipped through the yellow pages until he found what he was looking for and reached for the telephone, a glance at the hotel alarm clock telling him it was later than he thought._

" _Pete?"_

 _Edie's voice had a suspicious ring to it that he was more than familiar with as she raised up on one elbow and followed his movements with equally suspicious eyes. Ignoring her as much as he could, he scanned the page, finding the name of a jeweler a few blocks up the street and a couple of blocks over. The PI almost groaned out loud upon finding out the store didn't open until eleven on Fridays, which was just a couple hours before their appointment with the Justice of the Peace, but his mood brightened considerably when the man said they would be open until eight tonight. Replacing the receiver, Pete leaned forward and placed a kiss on Edie's nose and told her to get dressed, they were going to paint the town. Starting with a jewelry store._

* * *

Afterwards Edie could remember very little of what the Justice of the Peace said during the short ceremony. She recalled the basics about until death and loving and cherishing and remembered saying she did and Pete saying he did. She thought maybe he said the words first. Wasn't that the way it went? The officiant used their formal names when he asked those questions. It seemed funny to her to be Peter and Edith. No one ever called her Edith except for Mama or Aunt Florence, or Pete or her friend June Holton on a rare occasion when they were trying to make a point or attempting to be funny. And Pete was always just Pete except to the eclectic few of his 'friends' who referred to him as Peter. And Mama of course, again. If Mama had to call Pete anything to his face she used his proper name.

But maybe the words themselves weren't that important. Maybe what was important was the warmth of her man's hand gripping hers and the love and safety the simple and quite natural gesture conveyed. Or maybe it was the expression of devotion in Pete's gaze and the look of desire hidden just beneath the surface of the deep blue of his eyes that said to her what mere words couldn't possibly convey.

But then there were other words too as Pete slipped the wide, yellow gold wedding band on her finger to join the other ring he'd placed there just two evenings ago.

"I should have married you a long time ago," he told her in a low voice, raising his eyes to hold her gaze. "I know we said we'd know when the time was right but – " The PI's lips tilted in a repentant smile. "I'm sorry I waited so long. Accepting change isn't one of my strong points – " he released a sigh at the knowing amusement in Edie's eyes "– but I shouldn't let that affect our relationship. You're the one thing in my life that matters and I'd do absolutely anything to make you happy." His fingers remained with a light touch on the wedding band as he held onto her hand. "It would have made you happy."

"I've always been happy with you, Pete," Edie murmured with her own tender smile.

She slid the matching yet more masculine wedding band onto Pete's finger and heard the words that pronounced them man and wife and swallowed past a sudden thickness in her throat. His wife. She and Pete were husband and wife! She couldn't stop herself from laughing out loud when the man told Pete he could kiss the bride, her hands finding his cheeks to frame his face and her body pressing against his as she initiated the kiss to his smiling lips. His hands were at her hips and she felt them slide to the small of her back as he gathered her closer than she thought possible, his mouth hard against hers before softening into a sweet caress. He released her lips and dropped a quick kiss to the side of her neck and then his voice was a soft whisper in her ear.

"Let's go find that perfect place to be by ourselves. It has to be out there somewhere."

"We already have the perfect place." She smiled as he lifted his head. "Let's go home."

* * *

 _Note: I have no idea what the actual requirements for marriage in the State of Connecticut would have been in 1961. I've used what few details I could find through online research to paint a small illustration of what they might be. If anyone knows what the legalities might have been my ear is available to listen. Referenced Episodes: Pete is in Acapulco from Episode 30 through Episode 33 of Season 3._


	7. And So It Begins

**Peter Gunn, Edie Hart and other characters from the original series unfortunately don't belong to me, nor do I make any financial gain from this story. But that doesn't mean I can't play with the characters and make them do what I want them to do. Most of the time. If I ask nicely. Actually they usually just do what they want and rarely listen to me.**

 **That's a Sneaky Way to Propose**

 **Chapter 7: And So It Begins**

Peter Gunn's gaze drifted from the roadway in front of the car, its gray surface having transformed to a ghostly darkness as the sun slowly dropped below the horizon, to his wife of seven and a half hours, give or take a few minutes. Edie leaned warmly against his right side, eyes idly trailing the taillights of passing vehicles, occasionally reaching a hand forward to push a button on the radio to bring in a different station. The man's lips tilted in a nostalgic smile as a slow jazz tune began to play, bringing back memories of the woman beside him standing on the stage at Mother's while he sat mooning in a chair at the proprietor's favorite table near the back of the room listening to her sing. He supposed it was true what people said. The more things change the more they stay the same.

"Honey, you're speeding again."

His reverie was interrupted when Edie's hand moved from the radio knob to rest lightly on his thigh and offer a light squeeze. In a soft voice she ventured to question what was on his mind, the laughter in her gaze obvious as he eased his foot off the gas pedal. She knew precisely what was on his mind, he'd offered explicit details when she pointed out his negligence in following the speed limit barely ten minutes ago. As the final miles fell behind them he'd found his mind occupied with little else beyond getting home, falling into bed and making love to his wife for the first time. Which when he thought about it sounded odd, and he'd said as much to Edie and she'd merely grinned delightedly.

But he didn't repeat any of that, merely told her how much he liked the song and why and she offered him a kind smile and not for the first time made comment about his sentimental nature. She'd made it known on more than one occasion that it was one of the things she loved most about him.

His blue gaze played along the shadows of Edie's face as he slowed the big Plymouth to a stop at the swift change of a streetlight from green to red. Just a couple more miles and they'd be home. Finally. Upon leaving the office of the Justice of the Peace they'd gone back to the hotel, Pete stopping at the front desk to check out and pay the bill while Edie headed to the elevator and up to their room to change clothes. When he eventually found his way there to help get their belongings together he found her dressed prettily in gray cotton slacks and a sleeveless white blouse that sported lace down the front and around the wide Peter Pan collar. The pink dress was back on its hanger, though covered with only the dry-cleaning plastic this time around, and he'd grumbled that he hadn't even had the chance to get her out of it properly, upon which Edie had promised to wear it again at the very first opportunity that presented itself. She certainly didn't want to deprive him of his fun.

They'd made a leisurely drive of their return trip, stopping for a very late lunch at a little highway diner that laid claim to having the best cheeseburgers between Baltimore and Boston. Pete decided they were almost as good as those at Nic's Diner but not quite. The hometown burgers at Nic's were the best he'd ever had. But he'd had fun kissing mustard from Edie's lips and watching her sneak extra fries from his basket after she finished her own and sharing the ice cream cones they lingered over as they strolled back to the car. His suggestion that they make a fast stop at Guido's to pick up something for an equally late supper had gone over well with Edie, but by this point he wished he had kept his mouth shut so they could just head straight home. He made the turn onto Twenty-Second Street and a few minutes later pulled up to the little restaurant at the end of the pier.

"I keep thinking about the poor man at the telegraph office." Edie's voice was filled with soft laughter, her eyes on Pete's profile as he shifted into park and reached out to turn off the ignition. "Did you get the feeling he thought he was on _Candid_ _Camera_?" Her smile widened and her eyes danced with humor.

The PI's lips tilted wryly at Edie's reminder of the tall cadaverous individual who had assisted them as they sent telegrams to her parents and his dad, and how the fellow had winced and then frowned and furtively looked here and there as he listened to the explanation for the three messages going to Frank Gunn. He'd looked Pete up and down dubiously but his demeanor had brightened considerably at the sight of the twenty dollar bill the PI dangled in front of him in the form of a tip.

Pete got out of the car and walked around to open the door on Edie's side, grasping her hand and lacing his fingers with hers as they sauntered into Guido's little place. After ordering something to go they loitered in the corner by the jukebox, making small talk, Edie pointing out some new tunes that had been added since they'd last stopped by for a late supper, Pete listening for the most part and watching the many different expressions that crossed her face and wondering what was taking their food so long. His mind must have wandered because he felt her lean against him and give a nudge with her elbow, a smile that could melt his heart on her face as she reminded him how they had ended up here on their first real date – "because pie and coffee at the diner up the street from Mother's could by no stretch of the imagination be called a date" – when the fancy place where he'd made reservations had succumbed to what was eventually determined to be arson.

"If he doesn't remember you tell him to ask me!" Guido himself appeared with the food they'd ordered, a wonderful aroma emanating from the brown paper bag. The PI reached a hand into his pants pocket, bringing out some paper bills and watching his friend hand Edie a bottle of red wine. "It's not Italian if there's no wine," Guido affirmed. "From me to you. You haven't been around in a few weeks, it will help you remember Guido."

Edie replied that Guido was unforgettable and gave a smile that brought a blush to the man's cheeks and had Pete holding back a laugh as he grabbed her elbow and steered her out the door. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked from the pier back to the big Plymouth Fury, the sound strangely loud in the calm night air.

"We should stop by Mother's apartment for Thomas and the puppy." Edie's voice came suddenly to Pete from the passenger seat. He glanced over while pulling to a stop at the red light at the corner of Twenty-Second Street and Canal Avenue. In the dark interior of the car the woman felt rather than saw the question in his eyes. "I wouldn't feel right leaving them for her to take care of until Monday when we're not actually out of town."

"We can go over tomorrow," the man compromised.

"I'd feel guilty taking advantage of Mother like that."

"I'll make sure you don't have time to feel guilty."

This time it was a puckish smile Edie felt directed toward her, the amusement in Pete's voice unmistakable. The smile became a chuckle as he crossed the intersection, hit the green light at River Street and turned left at the next cross street.

"How about I take you and the luggage home and then I'll run over to Mother's," the PI suggested, knowing full well if both of them went the older woman would begin asking questions and innocently nudging and pushing as only Mother could. There was no way Edie would be able to keep a straight face but going alone he'd be in and out in a matter of minutes. He'd earned a master's degree in 'Mother Avoidance' over the thirteen years he'd known her. "That'll give you time to change into something more comfortable," he winked.

It was three quarters of an hour later when he finally pushed through the apartment door, the cat in his black and red houndstooth-patterned carrier and the little brown dachshund pulling impatiently at his leash. Hearing the key in he lock, Edie came from the bedroom and watched him kneel down to unzip the carrier.

"Pete?"

"Yes wife?" His back was toward her so he didn't see the pleasured smile that dimpled her cheeks at his words. Nor was she aware of the satisfied tilt of his lips.

"What took you so long? I was starting to worry."

The PI muttered something as he pulled back the flap and released Thomas, who quickly scampered in the direction of the kitchen and his bowl of kibble. Edie managed to make sense of a word here and there – something about Mother grousing that they were back already and raising her eyebrows and giving him one of those beady-eyed looks at which she was such a master. A rueful smile curled the blonde's lips as she looked down from the small landing at the top of the stairs, more mumbling reaching her ears concerning a few snarky comments the woman had made – "Well that's just fine then, I don't suppose I need to know what's going on with you two. After all, I'm merely the woman who hired the girl after Alison Mayberry up and left me to have a baby. If it wasn't for me you two might never have met, but that's neither here nor there. You kids just go about your own business and don't mind a worrisome old woman."

"What was I supposed to say after all that wheedling?" the man sighed.

"So you're telling me you let the cat out of the bag?" Edie had the grace to grimace at her own attempt at humor yet at the same time couldn't help but smile. She also couldn't help but admire the strength of his forearms beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt as he ministered to the two animals. Or how sexy his loose tie and the undone top button of his shirt made him look. She very much desired to be with him in their bed, to feel those arms around her and to bury her face in his chest as he made love to her.

"Very funny." Pete removed the dog's leash and watched the short dachshund chase after the ginger tabby, both acting like they hadn't been fed for days though he and Edie had delivered their food to Mother at the time they'd taken the animals over. "She expects us for supper tomorrow evening."

"What?" Edie's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"According to Mother, since I didn't afford you a proper honeymoon and we'll be sitting around the house like an old bored married couple all evening anyway – " The PI turned from hanging the dog leash in the closet and his gaze found the landing at the top of the stairs where Edie stood. " – she feels it's her duty to provide us with entertainment," he finished absently, suddenly finding it a little hard to breathe.

She was wearing the pink dress. Pete's eyes lit upon the fine material of the lacy bodice, then paused at the waist before following the form-fitting satin skirt that hugged her hips in just the right manner as it fell below her knees. Silk stockings accentuated her shapely legs and she had on the light pink high heels she'd worn earlier that day. Hugging her neck was the double strand pearl necklace Pop had given her the year before last, with the matching earrings and bracelet accentuating the appropriate parts of her body. Had she been wearing the jewelry during their marriage ceremony? He supposed she had but his eyes and thoughts had naturally been elsewhere at the time. Her hair hung in a soft wave, loose to her shoulders the way he liked it best, looking a little damp at the ends from a shower. He could see and feel its silkiness even from this distance.

"Couldn't you have told her we have ways of entertaining _ourselves_?"

Pete reached a hand to the wall switch and flipped off the overhead lights, leaving on the floor lamp between the two chairs situated in the alcove beneath the stairs. He paused at the bottom step, his gaze never leaving the blonde, his lips tilting in a tender smile.

"Have I told you today how much I love you?"

"Why don't you come up and see me and we'll discuss it," she said in her best Mae West imitation. A suggestive smile curved her lips as she gave him a wink and turned around, hips swaying as she drifted into the bedroom.

Pete made it almost to the top of the stairs only to have her pop back out of the bedroom and rush past him in the opposite direction. How the girl managed to chase up and down the stairs in high heels would remain one of the great mysteries of his life.

"Oh, Pete – We forgot!"

Slipping the chain free Edie swung the door open, stepped out into the hallway and then turned to face him, her face breaking into to a bright expectant smile. Upon receiving no more than a blank stare from her husband the smile fell and she heaved an exasperated sigh, the expression on her face telling him more than words ever could exactly how thickheaded she found him to be. She allowed her gaze to roam the open doorway up and down before giving the man a pointed look.

"Pete honey," she hinted with raised eyebrows. "Isn't there something you'd like to do?"

"Not some- _thing_ ," he smirked and watched her cheeks turn pink.

"You're a nut."

"Just for you, dear heart."

The PI gave in to her prompting and joined her in the hallway.

"I suppose you're serious about this?" Pete questioned rhetorically, snaking his left arm around her waist. Her arms went around his neck and he easily lifted her, his lips tilting in a smile at the warmth of her breath against his cheek. Stepping sideways through the doorway, he turned and hooked his foot around the back of the door to swing it shut and then stood so Edie could set the lock and attach the chain. Giving the stairs a measured look he took a breath, answered Edie's uncertain grin with a droll tilt of his eyebrow and ventured the first step. In for a penny, in for a pound.

* * *

The pretty pink dress hung sedately from the top corner of the slightly open closet door, shoulders wrapped around a wooden hanger from Soon Lee Chinese Laundry. It hadn't taken long for the dress to hit the floor after the PI joined his new bride in the bedroom. Their lovemaking had been hurried and impatient, both eager for the touch of the other and for the heady explosion of heat that inevitably culminated in breath-stealing climax. Afterwards they'd both fallen into an exhausted sleep, Edie awakening some hours later to not only the pressing call of nature but to the insistent rat-a-tat of rain against the half-open window. She got up and shuttered the window, removed the dress from harm's way while gathering their scattered clothing on the way to the bathroom, then crawled back beneath the sheet and into her husband's arms, the urgent tempo of the rain struggling to match their own as they found each other again in the early hours of Saturday morning.

"Pete?"

"Mmmph..."

He was on his left side, she on her back, his arm wrapped around her midsection and his chin resting comfortably against her shoulder. Edie squirmed and fumbled at the covers, pushing her pillow up so she sat with her back against the headboard. The PI opened his eyes a crack, finding his nose buried against her hip, then reflexively squeezed his eyes tightly shut again when she reached to turn on her bedside lamp.

"Do you feel different?"

Opening his eyes again, Pete peered up at her, his dark gaze skimming the curve of her breasts visible above the sheet and blanket she'd pulled up around her. She was playing with her engagement ring and wedding band, slowly twisting the latter around on her finger and straightening the former so that the stones were perfectly centered. Her hair was beautifully messy and falling into her eyes and she had that look on her face that told him she was overthinking something. He was well versed in the nuances of Edie Hart. Edie Gunn, he corrected himself. Mrs. Peter Gunn. He moved to sit beside her and she glanced over, smiling fondly at his sleepy expression and the way his hair stuck up on one side. There was a smile in his eyes, the one he saved just for her. She was sure of that, she'd never once seen his eyes look at another person with that smile.

"I can already feel the pull of that ring in my nose," he joked.

"Very funny."

"Do you?" Pete's lips tilted to match the smile in his eyes. "Feel different, I mean."

"I just feel very happy," the woman said with simple sincerity.

"Then that must be how I feel, too."

He bent to kiss her, marking the side of her neck with the warmth of his mouth, meeting the question in her gaze when he raised his head.

"You're the one with the compatible psyche, remember? When I hurt, _you_ hurt." He took her left hand in his, touching the rings there in much the same manner as she'd been, and watched a smile bloom as she recalled saying those words to him several years ago after Joe Nord's hired thug knocked him around behind Mother's. "So it just stands to reason that when I'm happy, _you're_ happy."

The blonde laughed and her arms tightly circled the PI's neck as she delivered a mind-numbing kiss. Then Pete's hands were at her hips and like quicksilver he had her flat on her back and the bed clothes pulled up over their heads, her yelp of surprise lost against his shoulder as he fell on top of her. His hands curved beneath her buttocks, pulling her tightly against him, underscoring his arousal.

"Pete– hurry!"

A gasp, a groan, a moan, a sudden snicker.

"Was that your stomach growling?" His voice was muffled against that perfect curve of her neck and shoulder, his chest shaking with laughter.

"We never got around to – " She sucked in an agonized breath as the man pushed up on one elbow. "Don't you dare stop!"

"But if you're hungry..." Pete continued to chuckle, each movement of his chest sending frissons of pleasure echoing through the woman's body. "I don't want you fainting from malnourishment – " Dipping his head, he nibbled at her earlobe, deciding to himself that it was quite warm beneath the covers. Hot. It was hot beneath the covers.

"I swear if you don't – "

The sheet rustled and she felt his hand beneath her head, then his long fingers weaving through her hair as his mouth found hers, catching the sounds of her cries as he took them on that magical ride that was another one of those parts of him that was hers and hers alone.

* * *

It was after ten-thirty when Pete pulled them both from the rumpled cream-colored sheets, the hungry rumblings of Edie's stomach, which had been forgotten hours earlier, reminding them both of the bag from Guido's they'd left sitting on the kitchen counter the previous evening. A leisurely shower later, and dressed for a comfortable Saturday in their own company, they made their way downstairs. The little dachshund danced around Pete's feet – how had he suddenly become the puppy's preferred walking companion barely a week after being discovered abandoned in the coat check room at the club? the PI wondered to himself – so the man took him for a long awaited constitutional while Edie put the late-supper-turned-lunch in the oven to heat, watched intently by the ginger cat.

"When we get the marriage certificate in the mail we'll need to go to the Social Security office to change your name and get you a new card," Pete mulled over a thick slice of pepperoni and mushroom pizza dripping with sauce. He chewed and swallowed. "We should probably make a list of other places. Driver's License Bureau. The bank. You'll need to get your passport changed, or maybe get a new one, I'm not sure how that works but we'll find out." He paused and took a sip from the bottle of Budweiser at his elbow, giving his wife a bland stare as he set it back down on the breakfast bar, his lips tilting in time with his own amused thoughts.

"And just what are you grinning about?"

"I understand some women don't change their names anymore when they get married."

"So?" Edie glanced up from twisting spaghetti around her fork, her gaze narrowing.

"Well..." Pete swallowed another big bite of pizza and offered her a look of wide-eyed innocence, a chuckle lurking at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe you're one of those women. I might be getting the cart before the horse."

"You are _such_ a funny man," the woman drawled with saccharine sweetness.

The PI reached behind him for the pad of paper and pen kept near the telephone, jotting down the things he'd already mentioned before grabbing another slice of pizza from the plate.

"Medical insurance, car insurance, all of the paperwork having to do with the club." He made notations as he talked. "We can add to the list as we think of things but we should try to get the important stuff done first." There were also a number of items he knew he needed to take care of himself but which he didn't mention. Time enough for that once they were accomplished.

The telephone rang as he was speaking, Edie raising her eyebrows in resignation and giving him one of her patented looks of knowing disgust as she wiped her fingers and mouth with a napkin.

"It's probably Mother," Pete said, making a grab for a third slice of pizza and wondering where he'd gotten such an appetite. Then his gaze rested on Edie and his mind settled on their recent activities and a smile colored his voice as he continued. "I told her to call if there was anything she needed for dinner tonight..." the man winked, "...other than the presence of the newlyweds."

He listened as Edie picked up the receiver.

"She promised she wouldn't say a word and wouldn't tell anyone we were home."

"Hello?"

Pete leaned down to offer a piece of pepperoni to Thomas, who'd spent the last fifteen minutes rubbing against his legs and making pitiful faces at Edie.

"Mama!"

The cat's eyes widened comically at the word that escaped from the woman's lips and he quickly snapped up the delicacy and scampered into the next room to eat in peace behind the long drapes covering the patio doors. Peter Gunn slowly straightened in his chair, suddenly wishing he could chase behind the feline and find his own place to hide.

* * *

 _(Referenced Episode: "Image of Sally" S1 EP9.)_


	8. Mamas and Papas and Mothers

**Peter Gunn, Edie Hart and other characters from the original series unfortunately don't belong to me, nor do I make any financial gain from this story. But that doesn't mean I can't play with the characters and make them do what I want them to do. Most of the time. If I ask nicely. Actually they usually just do what they want and rarely listen to me.**

 _Many thanks to those who've been reading this story and who have taken a moment to make a comment or suggestion or to give a review. All three are always appreciated. The best part of writing is knowing that your work is enjoyed. A couple more chapters and this one will be complete._

 **That's a Sneaky Way to Propose**

 **Chapter 8: Mamas and Papas and Mothers**

Hearing her mother's voice over the telephone brought Edie a strange combination of happiness and trepidation. They hadn't spoken in three or four weeks. Mama Hart had called during the time Pete had been in Acapulco, the two or three days he'd planned on being away having stretched into well over a week due to _"circumstances beyond my control"_. Edie had rolled her eyes when those words reached her ears over the hum of the long distance line when Pete had phoned. Mama had called the very next afternoon, almost as though she knew her daughter needed cheering up.

" _The telegram that you and… – that you sent said you'd call when you were home,"_ Mary Grace Hart said, her voice carrying just the tiniest edge of accusation, something only someone who knew her well would detect. Edie knew that tone by heart. She'd been on the receiving end of Mama's "voice" more times than she cared to remember, oftentimes through no fault of her own, other times due to what Mama considered her rebellious nature. It had been the bane of her teenage years, because in Mama's opinion anything from arriving home thirty seconds past curfew on a Saturday night to hanging out with kids she didn't approve of – like that nice girl Marion Marshall whose parents were divorced – had been a heinous act of rebellion.

"It was late when we got home last night," the blonde fudged. She found her way back to the stool next to Pete at the breakfast bar, the long cord from the wall phone looping around the cabinet corner along with her. Maybe it hadn't been that late when they had gotten back into town, but between stopping at Guido's and Pete dropping her off at the apartment and then running by Mother's to pick up the animals, it had been well past eleven before they'd gotten settled in. "We'd had a long day and hit a lot of Friday night traffic driving back. We were just happy to get home and go to bed."

Her mother had no reply to that but Edie had no trouble at all hearing her thoughts over the silence of the telephone line.

" _Please tell me you're not pregnant."_

"Mama – " Edie rolled her eyes and made a face at Pete, receiving a wink in return as he refilled her glass of milk. She covered the mouthpiece of the receiver with her hand as the PI sat back down and reached for another slice of pizza, aware of how her mother could ramble and knowing she herself would never get a word in edgewise until Mama either allowed it or paused to catch her breath.

"Pete! That's your fourth piece." She slapped at his hand but he deftly evaded her.

"I have to keep up my strength," he said with another wink.

" _...and just what else are we supposed to think? You run off without a word to anyone and marry this man you've been cavorting with_ _for the last three years. Neither one of you has shown the least inclination toward marriage and suddenly out of the blue you elope to Connecticut. If you're not pregnant then why on earth would you get married like that? I just... – Please Edith, tell me you're not pregnant."_

"Well I wasn't yesterday," Edie said, allowing her blue eyes to settle with a smirk on the man sitting beside her. "But I can't vouch for today."

" _That's certainly a relief."_ Mary Grace released a drawn-out sigh that seemed to echo her satisfaction with her daughter's response while seemingly ignoring the girl's latter comment. _"And a load off my mind. I don't know how I would have explained to your Grandma Kelly that you had to get married because you'd gotten yourself in trouble like some sixteen year old schoolgirl with a boyfriend who couldn't keep his – "_

Another sigh followed and then she was speaking in a muffled tone. Edie couldn't make out her words but decided she must be saying something to Papa. This being Saturday he wouldn't be at work, seniority with the bus company having relieved him of his second and fourth weekend of the month duties several years ago. After a few seconds she was back on the line.

" _Not to mention your Granny Hart. You know how she is about things like that. It would have absolutely mortified both of them to find out one of their own granddaughters was in that position. Neither one would have been able to look their friends in the eye ever again."_

Edie could have told her mother that neither grandmother was as prudish as she liked to pretend but she decided to keep that thought to herself. And she very well knew it wasn't the grandmothers the older woman was worried about when it came to looking people in the eye. An involuntary smile curled her lips. Mama was something else.

" _You do realize that a few flowers and a handful of cigars can't make up for not being at our own daughter's wedding."_ Mary Grace paused. _"I don't suppose Peter's father was there either. Or were your Papa and I the only parents not invited?"_

"No, Mama. No one was there besides me and Pete." The younger woman watched her husband of a day drain his bottle of Budweiser, deposit it in the little chrome and yellow Sanette trash pail, then step across the small kitchen to gather up the coffee carafe and two white stoneware mugs. She admired his lean form, clad in a favorite blue and white checked shirt and a sleeveless dark blue knit cardigan with casual corduroys. "Except of course the justice of the peace, his wife and the photographer. Getting married was a spur of the moment decision. There wasn't time to invite anyone. And to be perfectly honest we were quite happy with it being just the two of us."

" _A justice of the peace,"_ Mrs. Hart sighed. _"Somehow I just knew that. Somehow I just knew it wouldn't be a religious ceremony. Not that there was any hope of that in the first place. No respectable man of the cloth would perform the sacrament of marriage for a man and woman who've been so blatantly living outside the moral codes of the Church. Edith, a marriage conducted by a justice of the peace isn't even considered valid! In the eyes of the Catholic Church you're not married, you're in sin. Which you already were anyway so I guess it doesn't make any difference one way or the other. Of course getting married the way you did does make divorce easier. Maybe it's not too late, you could get the marriage annulled."_ In the sudden beat of silence over the line Edie could imagine the expression on her mother's face and the way she would be wringing her hands. " _Oh, what am I saying? That train left the station years ago!"_

Edie's gaze found her husband's face as he set a full mug of hot coffee next to her half empty plate of spaghetti, a pained grimace clouding her blue eyes even as she struggled to contain an irreverent grin. Her mother could be a riot at times, but at others, well, it was just best to listen and let the words roll like water off a duck's back.

" _What was Mr. Gunn's reaction to your marriage?"_

"We haven't spoken to Pop yet."

Even from three hundred miles away Edie could visualize her mother's wry expression at the familiar manner in which she referred to Pete's dad, but he had become Pop, just as Papa was Papa and Mama was Mama. The older woman would just have to get used to it.

" _You mentioned there being a photographer at the ceremony. Does that mean we'll at least get a picture or two of you in your wedding dress? And I certainly hope you didn't wear white! What a total mockery that would be!"_

Edie had to bite her tongue to keep from emitting an unladylike snort. Her mother had an uncanny ability to jump from one subject to another at the drop of a hat. She raised an eyebrow at Pete, watching him take a bite of cannoli that looked like it had been dipped in sprinkles and powdered sugar, and wondered if she was the same way. If so, she hoped she wasn't as bad at it as Mama was and that Pete would forgive her. She'd have to ask him. She took a bite of the cannoli as Pete offered it to her, smiling back and licking her lips before returning her attention to the phone.

"It was light pink," she admitted, sending her husband another smile. "Pete wanted lots of pictures so there are lots of pictures. We should get them and the negatives in the mail sometime next week and we'll make sure you and Papa get copies of all of them."

" _What do you mean the dress was pink!"_ It wasn't exactly a question.

"Pink is the color of happiness and joy, Mama."

Mama didn't have an answer to that.

" _And no honeymoon? You run to Connecticut and run right back home? He couldn't find the time to take you someplace nice for three or four days? I know his work keeps him busy and you have your restaurant business to attend to, but surely he could have set aside a few days to treat you to a little vacation. If the man doesn't have that small amount of respect for you then I can't see this impulsive marriage of yours lasting very long. You might want to think about that for a while, young lady."_

Expelling a long-suffering sigh, the blonde raised her eyes to the ceiling for a moment. Leave it to her mother to consider a marriage resulting from a three year relationship as impulsive, she and Papa had married in half that time. She briefly considered reminding her mother of that fact but wisely bit her tongue. No good would come of it. She allowed her gaze to slide sideways to her husband. He sat calmly watching her, his elbow on the breakfast bar, his chin resting in his palm, a little smile slanting his lips. Edie tilted the receiver away from her face, her eyes dancing with mischief.

"Are you certain you wanted to marry into this family?" she teased.

The PI chuckled and leaned in to kiss her, the familiar caress becoming more involved than it should have at that precise moment. Mary Grace Hart's voice came tinnily to their ears as they finally drew apart.

" _What was that you said? Are you still there, Edith?"_

"Yes, Mama, I'm here." Edie smiled and lifted her hand to wipe a dusting of powdered sugar from Pete's chin. "We didn't have to go anywhere in order to have a honeymoon, though we did consider staying in Connecticut for a few more days." She explained how the several inns they had investigated had been booked through the end of the month or beyond and that they'd ended up at a hotel in Westport. "It was a very nice hotel right in the middle of town," she told her mother, "with a big restaurant and a swimming pool and guest rooms you wouldn't believe. But the bed squeaked."

" _You checked into a hotel room together just as if you were already a married couple..."_ Mrs. Hart's voice trailed off but her tone indicated how scandalous she found this to be. _"And they actually allowed you to do such a thing? Upon my word, Edith June, I never thought I'd see the day when my own daughter would carry on in such a manner! Have you no self-respect at all? Do you give no thought to what people might think? What if someone had seen you?"_

"I'm sure quite a few people saw us, Mama."

" _Edith– Stop being a smarty-pants! And I'm going to ignore the part about the bed. You truly know how to try a person's patience."_

"The squeaking bed was the reason we checked out of the hotel," the younger woman explained in as patient a voice as she could muster. "You wanted to know why we didn't stay somewhere for a few days before coming home and I'm trying to tell you. We could barely move a finger without the bed springs squeaking to high heaven. Every time one of us rolled over the box spring creaked like it was about to fall apart. Pete was worried about what the people in the next room might be thinking."

The man in question coughed and choked on the mouthful of coffee he was swallowing. The blonde poked him in the ribs and shushed him. She knew she ought to be ashamed for needling her mother but there were times when it was impossible not to.

" _Is he wearing a wedding ring?"_ Mrs. Hart quickly changed the subject.

"Yes, of course he is." Edie reached for Pete's hand, his fingers lacing between hers in a manner as natural as breathing.

Deciding he didn't really want to know what question his new mother-in-law had asked her, Pete merely squeezed his wife's hand and offered up an encouraging smile. Then the little dachshund was dancing around on the floor between their chairs, having wandered in from the living room where he'd been curled into a sleeping ball following his walk. The puppy's almost black eyes stared up at Pete and he wagged his tail and then snuffled around the man's sock-clad feet. Pete smiled and reached for the container the spaghetti from Guido's had come in and he leaned down to place it on the floor, watching as the puppy went to town on the leftover sauce.

The PI suddenly wondered when he'd become so domesticated. How had it snuck up on him? Three years ago he'd been a single fellow living a comfortable, carefree bachelor's existence, dating when he found the time to tear himself away from his work, no special woman in his life. His gaze found Edie's face, his lips quirking in amusement at the little frown that had settled between her eyes as she listened to whatever her Mama was going on about. The smile softened as he watched her lift her mug to her lips and take a sip of coffee, presenting him with her profile, the gentle curve of her cheek and the sweet angle of her chin accentuated by silky blonde hair that he was almost unable to resist running his fingers through then and there.

He took a sip from his own mug and swallowed. Three years. And literally overnight he now had a wife. And with her came a mother-in-law who didn't particularly like him or his premarital relationship with her daughter. That probably wouldn't get any better, but looking on the bright side he figured it couldn't get worse. Hopefully his new father-in-law would take a more understanding approach to his daughter's quick and unannounced marriage. And then there were those anticipated babies he and Edie had gotten around to discussing again last night. Three years. Even in his wildest dreams he would never have believed he would be here today living this life with this woman he loved.

And he realized it hadn't snuck up on him at all. It had just been building over time from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her that night at Mother's.

" _There's no of course about it. How do you know he won't take it off when he's out all night on that job of his doing heaven knows what? Florence Jean insists that married men who don't wear wedding rings are advertising they're still available for– Well, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. And I'm also sure there are quite the number of women out there who would be more than willing to make themselves available even if he did have on a wedding ring. For all you know he's accepted invitations from those sorts of women already during the time you two have been together. That's what those detectives in the movies do, always having a girl hanging on each arm and another waiting at home."_

"Mama –" the daughter sighed. Mama's sister Florence Jean was the family busybody. She tried to run the lives of her children and her siblings, was always butting in where she wasn't wanted, was continually interfering in matters that weren't her business and naturally thought she knew everything better than anyone else. Mama admitted she was a meddler but still seemed fascinated by the things Florence Jean said and did.

" _I'm sorry, little girl. I shouldn't have said that. I know it's not true."_

"I'm not a little girl, Mama."

She felt Pete behind her as he returned from setting their silverware and empty plates in the sink. His chest was warm against her back as he leaned in, his arms on either side of her as he rested his hands on the breakfast bar, his breath tickling her skin while his lips found the side of her neck. She felt his smile.

"You most certainly are not," the PI murmured. Edie leaned her head back against his shoulder and he placed a kiss against her chin. Straightening, he extended a hand for the remaining dishes, returned to the sink and reached into the bottom cabinet for the bottle of Joy. He glanced over his shoulder to find the blonde's blue eyes on him, her lips puckered in a flirtatious smile.

" _No. No, I guess you're not."_

Mary Grace's voice trickled thinly along the telephone line after a long silence that her daughter didn't appear interested in breaking. She continued, her words flowing with an evident quiver.

" _I'm sorry, Goose. I know you think I treat you like a child sometimes but I don't mean to. It's just... – You'll always be my little girl. I only want what's best for you. I love you and I want you to be happy. One of these days you'll be a mother and you'll understand what I'm talking about."_

"I'm very happy, Mama."

" _At the same time I also know I need to accept the fact that you're a grown woman who can make her own decisions. And her own mistakes. And Edith as much as I do love you I can't help but believe you've made a very terrible mistake getting married the way you have. You think you love this man – and I suppose you must have some sort of feelings for him based on the scandalous way the two of you have been living – but are those the kind of feelings that will last a lifetime?"_

Edie was saved from answering her mother's obviously rhetorical question when Mama seemed to fumble with the receiver and then apparently covered it and exchanged some further words with Papa. The blonde glanced toward the clock on the stove, her eyes lingering on her husband as he dried his hands on a dishtowel and then looped it through the oven handle to dry. Had she been on the phone with her mother for twenty minutes already? Edie had to admit she'd given her entire attention to only about half of what the older woman had said so far. She had long ago found that was for the best where she and Mama were concerned, otherwise there would be far too many hurt feelings on both sides. There was certain truth in what her Grandma Kelly had once told her, based on personal experience she presumed though she hadn't asked at the time. _"Mothers have opinions on the choices their daughters make_ ," Alice Kelly had said, _"and daughters learn to bite their tongues."_

" _Your father wants to talk to you."_ Mama's voice intruded on her thoughts.

Pete leaned against the counter, arms folded casually across his chest, and watched his wife's expression flow from exasperated to relieved in the space of a few seconds. She spoke no more than the occasional yes or no, glancing at him across the small kitchen from time to time, silently mouthed _Papa_ to him at one point and eventually looked at him with a teasing glint in her eyes and wordlessly offered him the receiver. Stepping forward he accepted it from her hand, their fingers brushing, and gave a smile that he hoped looked calmer than his insides said it did. He liked Joe Hart and the man seemed to like him, but when it came to the parents of the person you loved looks and actions could sometimes be deceiving. How should he greet his new father-in-law he suddenly wondered, the hello on his lips getting stuck in his throat. He cleared his throat and let the word fall out.

"Hello?"

" _A few years ago you and I had a little talk about your relationship with my daughter,"_ Joe Hart said, not beating around the bush. That was one of the things Pete liked about Edie's Papa. The man always came straight to the point. No hemming and hawing. He told it like it was and accepted it in the same fashion, much like his own Pop did. _"Do you remember that discussion?"_

"I do," the PI answered, his eyes crinkling in a smile as they met Edie's. She raised her eyebrows, her lips curling in response. He reached to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, his hand slipping beneath her hair to settle against her neck as he leaned in for a quick kiss before returning his attention to what her father was saying.

" _I told you that her happiness is the most important thing in the world to me. If I'm not mistaken I also told you what I'd do to you if you ever did anything to hurt her."_

"Uh, yes... I do seem to recall that." As a matter of fact it was with extreme clarity that Pete remembered the manner in which Joe Hart had explained that he would come to town and "beat the living daylights out of you". His hand trailed down Edie's arm, absorbing the warmth of her soft skin, and he laced his fingers with hers. A little frown furrowed her brow and he gave her hand a squeeze.

" _That hasn't changed just because you've come to your senses and married her."_

Was it possible he heard a smile in Joe Hart's voice?

"I would be disappointed if it had," Pete replied, his eyes studying his wife's face as she attempted to make sense of the conversation. He loved the way the expressions chased themselves like quicksilver across her features. One silent look from her often said more to him than ten thousand fancy words ever could. And the _things_ those looks said!

" _Good. I guess that's all I have to say then."_ Joe Hart paused, the hum on the line more a throb as the silence stretched, not quite reaching the level of discomfort. _"Well, maybe not all. Keep her happy. Make sure she knows you love her. You do those two things and we'll get along just fine."_

"You have my word on that."

" _I already thanked Edie for the flowers and cigars – I don't remember hearing Grace do that but I want you to know she does appreciate the roses."_

Papa sighed with an air of resignation and expressed his regret for any and all Mrs. Hart had said to her daughter that might have been out of line, which he admitted was most everything.

" _She'll get over it,"_ he promised, that hint of a smile still painting his words. _"She spent the entire morning in the kitchen baking, was up before_ _the rooster crowed and she'll be at it until the sun goes down. She's already made four breads and ten dozen cookies and I think I detected the smell of a mincemeat pie. By the time she's done we'll have enough to feed the neighborhood."_

Both men got a chuckle out of that comment. It was common knowledge that when she was irritated, anxious or even angry Mary Grace Hart gravitated to the kitchen to think. And to bake. The more she thought, the more she baked, until she had things figured out in her own mind. Pete had learned that the hard way when the Harts paid their daughter an unexpected visit several years prior.

" _And fancy you remembering I like the Blackstones. I enjoyed a long smoke after Gracie turned in last night. Just me, a good cigar and Jack Paar. Can't beat that. I had a bottle of Budweiser with it -"_ Joe Hart's voice dipped to a confidential undertone, _" – to toast_ _my daughter and new son-in-law. And believe it or not Grace didn't complain about me smelling up the house with the cigar."_

It was Pete's opinion that Mary Grace was so busy fretting about other things that a little cigar smoke wouldn't be very high on her list of complaints. He didn't say as much to Joe Hart, but took note that the living room clock had chimed the hour which meant the phone call had lasted over thirty minutes already – something Mrs. Hart also seemed to be reminding her husband about if Pete was deciphering correctly her comments in the background – so with a few quick words he said his goodbyes and handed the receiver over to Edie, who spoke a few more yeses, two or three nos and a couple of ohs before hanging up with an _"I love you too, Papa."_

"Mama is baking."

"So I heard." The PI's hands gravitated to his wife's hips as she turned to face him.

"Papa said the house smells like the Pillsbury dough factory." She plucked at a button on Pete's shirt and then looped her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with the short hairs they found there, her smiling blue eyes gazing into his.

"Is there such a place?"

"I have no idea. I think Papa was just trying to make a – what do they call it...?" Edie's forehead wrinkled as she pondered. "An allegory? Just imagine a huge warehouse with hundreds of people baking and the aroma of mountains of dough rising."

"Mmmm." Pete pulled her closer, his arms circling her waist.

"What was on Papa's mind?" She smiled into his shoulder.

"He was giving me some pointers on married life."

"Like what?" Edie leaned back so she could see his face.

"He said if you get out of hand I should just put you over my knee for a spanking." The man's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Apparently it worked wonders when you were a little girl."

"Oh Pete, he didn't." She laughed then her expression became uncertain. "Did he?"

The man chuckled and shook his head and his arms tightened around her. His lips found the gentle curve of her shoulder and his hands crawled beneath the delicate blue material of her cotton blouse. There was nothing better in life than the feel of this woman's soft skin against his and the warmth of her body in his arms.

"Let's go back to bed," he mumbled against her neck.

"Why?" Edie wondered, her lips widening in a delighted grin as she trailed her hands along his shoulders and began to play with his shirt collar. Pete was forever amazed at the way she could draw that one word out to mean so many different things. "Is your dough rising too?"

"I suppose that's one way to look at it." He placed a kiss just below her ear.

"What time do we have to be at Mother's?" she asked dubiously, her cheek finding his shoulder as his lips laid a moist trail of little kisses along her throat. Her eyes closed as a wave of desire coursed through her. It felt so delicious, what he was doing to her with so little effort, his touch as addictive as any drug.

"Not for a while." His teeth nibbled at her earlobe and his fingers deftly unfastened the hooks on the back of her bra.

"Because you know if we're late we'll never hear the end of it."

"You've never let that worry you before." His words were a smile against her temple.

"We're married now, we have a standard to uphold," she breathily teased.

"Oh, is that so? In that case I suppose we should find some other way to pass what's left of the afternoon." Pete made to move away, his dark eyes laughing into hers even as she captured his hand in hers and began to steer him toward the stairs. "We never did finish that game of Scrabble the other night."

"I have a feeling we can find more interesting games to play..."

* * *

Mother compressed her lips, giving her naturally stern-looking face an even more grim appearance, and thought long and hard about how she'd like to reach right through the telephone and shake some sense into her former piano player. When had Emmett Ward become such a flibbertigibbet? He was almost as bad as Barney. She wondered whether that girl June Holton might be rubbing off on him though from all appearances she didn't seem the type to gossip about anyone, much less her own friends. As she listened to his jabber she came to the conclusion it might just be a case of him having too much empty time on his hands.

"All I can tell you is they brought the cat and that little dog over for me to take care of for a few days," the woman reiterated in her scratchy voice, crossing her fingers behind her back as though Emmett was standing right in front of her. "They said they'd be home on Monday and would come by to get the animals sometime before noon. And like I told you already they didn't mention where they were going. Pete only said he'd just finished a job so he was taking Edie out of town for a little vacation. A long time overdue if you ask me," she added for good measure.

The old woman lifted her gaze to the ceiling as Emmett asked if she was sure the couple would be back Monday and whether they had mentioned an exact time.

" _Yes_ and _no_!" Patience wasn't one of Mother's strong suits and she was slowly running out of what little she had left. Men could be incredibly dense sometimes! "Are you sure you know what you're talking about Emmett?"

For the second time in ten minutes she listened to Emmett's explanation of Mrs. Hart's call of the previous evening and the things she had told Leslie – while he of course had listened in – all the while keeping an eye on the clock, hoping to get the young man off the phone before her guests arrived. She hoped her act of surprise at Emmett's news of the couple's marriage had been convincing, and it appeared it had been considering his response, but what on earth did he expect _her_ to do? Trying to keep a secret from Peter Gunn was about as easy as hiding a bone from a bloodhound. And then there was that well-known suspicious nature of her former girl singer. But Edie's mind was most likely so preoccupied with finally being married to the bloodhound that she wouldn't realize that shenanigans were afoot.

"Don't forget what happened the last time we had a surprise party for Pete. He ended up face-first in that pretty cake Edie got for his birthday. And in front of all his friends, too! Edie told me Pete hinted that if he never had another party it would be too soon."

" _Pete will get over it,"_ Emmett retorted with a chuckle. The party was mostly for Edie's benefit anyway, he explained. Women liked that sort of thing, and Pete would appreciate the thoughtfulness of their actions if for no other reason than that, because what made Edie happy made Pete happy. June and a couple of Edie's other girlfriends and the girls at the club were taking care of most of the details. _"You just need to show up,"_ Emmett reminded her. _"And be sure to call as soon as you can once you find out they're back in town."_

"All right, Emmett," Mother tried in what she hoped was a cheerful tone. "Maybe they'll give me a call before they put in an appearance."

The old woman hung up the receiver and was prying her still crossed fingers apart as the door buzzer sounded. She flung open the apartment door with a flourish only she could accomplish and beamed at the tall dark-haired man and the pretty blonde woman whose presence graced her doorstep.

"Get in here you two scamps!"

* * *

 _(Referenced Episode: Pete falls face-first into his birthday cake in "The Game" S2 EP10.)_


	9. Heard It Through the Grapevine

**Peter Gunn, Edie Hart and other characters from the original series unfortunately don't belong to me, nor do I make any financial gain from this story. But that doesn't mean I can't play with the characters and make them do what I want them to do. Most of the time. If I ask nicely. Actually they usually just do what they want and rarely listen to me.**

 _Thank you to those who've taken the time to read this story. If you've enjoyed it, or even if you haven't, feel free to drop me a line or a review. One more chapter and this one will be complete. Note: Melchy and I have written a story together under the author name **Precinct 13** that follows this "Peter Gunn" universe and timeline. It's called **Christmas Surprises**. We hope you'll consider reading it!_

 **That's a Sneaky Way to Propose**

 **Chapter 9: Heard It Through the Grapevine**

Pete rolled to one side, pushing up on his elbows and looking down into the flushed face of his wife. Her hair lay in a golden halo against the cream-colored pillow, damp tendrils clinging with perspiration to her forehead. She reached lethargic hands around his broad shoulders then upward to wind her fingers through his short dark hair, making it stick up in spikes. She gave a low laugh, earning her a curious stare, and wondered what one of the stoic PI's clients might think if he put in an appearance with so many strands out of place.

"Did you enjoy that, dear heart?" the man murmured with a smile against her neck, his mouth tender against the rapid beat of the little pulse he found there. Lifting his head he caught it with his gaze, watching with fascination as it slowed then sped up again as he let his fingers do a little walking over sensitive skin.

"Hmmmm..." She pretended to consider, brow furrowed, eyes squinting thoughtfully as she stared absently at the bedroom ceiling. "I'm not sure you were quite up to your usual standard."

"Oh really?" He pursed his lips, his eyes grazing her face with a possessive glint. "That's not what it sounded like to me." The man's chest shook with knowing laughter.

"We might need to give it another try." Her smile was a tease, her fingers toying with the little hairs on the back of his neck, her voice earnest. "Just so I can compare."

"There's just no pleasing you is there?"

"Quite the contrary, husband – " An easy smile curled the corners of her mouth as she practiced the endearment. "You please me very much." Raising her head from the pillow Edie touched his lips with hers, teasing them open, tempting him into a delicious journey of traded kisses.

"Are we getting up at all today?" Edie asked, slumberous eyes following his movements as he abandoned her lips and dipped his head to nibble at her earlobe, a languorous smile curling her mouth, duck bumps rising all over her skin again even as she recovered from their earlier lovemaking. The man raised his head, returning her smile with an amused tilt of his lips.

"We did already." He shifted to his left elbow, his other hand paying heed to one breast and then skimming gently down her side, his long legs encasing hers as he tried to keep most of his weight off of her. The bedroom was warm, he could feel the perspiration on his own body, and he idly wondered whether he should open the window. The rain that had fallen most of the afternoon had undoubtedly made it much cooler outside than it was inside.

"We did?" She traced a finger along his jawline.

"Don't you remember? I brought you breakfast in bed."

"That was breakfast? What happened to lunch? Are you sure I got up?"

"Well, you had a nightgown on when I brought breakfast up so I assume you did." Pete wiggled his eyebrows and gave a grin. "Unless you're the rubber lady and can reach the dresser from here. It was a very pretty bluish-green color..." His hand traced the velvety skin of her shoulder. She was so pretty, lying beneath him, her face flushed a becoming pink, her breasts grazing his chest with each shallow breath.

She let her gaze drop to the narrow space between their upper bodies.

"I'm not wearing it now," she feigned puzzlement.

"So I noticed."

Edie heaved an aggrieved sigh, the breath of air blowing a few stray tendrils of hair from her eyes, as the telephone on the nightstand jingled.

"Pete, not tonight? Tell whoever it is we're not at home," she protested, pushing him off her. She turned onto her side and pulled her pillow over her head to block out the sound. "Or just don't answer," her muffled voice continued crankily. She knew the hue and cry of that very telephone ring by heart yet hope prevailed. "Maybe it's a wrong number."

"It _could_ be your mother again," the man chuckled, getting out of bed and reaching in a drawer for a pair of boxers, letting the phone continue its tune until it stopped. He came out of the bathroom after a quick shower wearing the blue and green checked underpants and with his wet hair in some semblance of normalcy. Dropping down next to her where she still lay on the bed, he pulled at the pillow and tossed it aside, leaning in and placing a hard kiss on her lips. Slipping one arm beneath her he pulled her closer and she curled against him.

"How about I light up the Hibachi and throw on a couple steaks?"

"That sounds good," she agreed. His breath was warm against her face, the fingers of his right hand tangling in her hair as he claimed another kiss. "...Pete?"

"Hmmm?" His lips continued to nibble at hers, small kisses delaying her next words.

"We need to tell people we're married," she finally got out on a gasp.

One more kiss and the PI pushed slightly away to look at her.

"We do?" The muscle in his jaw ticked as he tried hard not to smile.

"Don't we?" Her palm was cool on the back of his neck. "Kiss me again."

"We could just let them figure it out for themselves," he said, complying by dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose and being rewarded with a frown of disapproval.

"Our friends?" Edie couldn't tell from her husband's expression if he was being serious. And as for that kiss! She tapped her lips with a forefinger. "Right here, mister. No noses today." The PI readily obliged and decided kissing her had to be at least three times as habit-forming as the Lucky Strikes he was trying with some small degree of success to give up.

"I suppose we could put an ad in the _News Standard_ ," he eventually said.

"Pete!"

"Or paint 'Just Married' on the car and tie tin cans to the bumper."

"You're a nut."

"So you keep telling me." His gaze raked her features, eyes darkening with amusement and every other emotion that consumed him whenever he looked at her. "A couple well-placed telephone calls by Mother and everybody of any consequence would know." His forehead wrinkled in a little frown as he thought back to the dinner they'd shared with their friend the previous evening. "She seemed oddly disappointed when we asked her not to say anything for a few days."

* * *

Dark-haired June Holton glanced around the dining area of the supper club, her critical gaze resting on the Damask linen cloths that had been placed on the tables. A number of different colors had already been tried, pretty white ones that Leslie had ordered several weeks ago and not yet had occasion to use currently covering them all. So far they had been unable to decide which table cover would best fit such a special occasion and she was beginning to wonder whether any of them really did. She heaved a very unladylike sigh and looked over at Sheila Bell. If anyone had told her she'd be spending her Sunday evening helping to plan a surprise wedding reception for Edie Hart, who she had known since first grade back home in Erie where they'd grown up together, and her handsome private investigator boyfriend Peter Gunn, she would have called them crazy to their face. Although June had known Pete a little less than two years, he had helped her during a very difficult time in her life simply because Edie had asked him to, something for which she would be forever grateful. The idea that the couple had eloped still had her bowled over.

"None of them exactly shouts Edie and Pete does it?"

June listened absently to Sheila's reply to her comment, her thoughts instead returning to Emmett Ward's phone call of Friday evening.

* * *

 _June Holton held the receiver away from her ear and gave it a wide-eyed stare. Emmett Ward, her boyfriend of a year-and-a-half, was on the other end of the line and she could hear the sound of his voice as he continued his end of the conversation. Following about two minutes of stunned silence on her part he seemed to realize he was talking into thin air. Hearing him say her name a couple times with a question mark at the end eventually brought June's attention back to the phone call._

" _What do you mean they're married? They can't be married," she said in disbelief. "Edie and I had lunch together on Saturday and the subject of marriage never came up. I would certainly remember if it did. And she would have told me if she and Pete were planning anything like that. Running off and getting married just doesn't sound like something– Married? Really, Emmett–" June took off her glasses, thick lenses in dark brown frames, and ran her fingers over her short dark hair then rubbed at her forehead as though what she was hearing was too much for her brain to absorb._

" _When people elope they don't usually broadcast it," the blond-headed piano player said, a warm smile in his soft voice as it traveled over the telephone wire. "If everyone knows you're eloping then, well, you're not actually eloping. I don't think. Are you?" His wide grin was something June couldn't see but it was obvious in the manner he spoke. When she first met Emmett she didn't think he had much of a sense of humor, contrary to what Edie had told her about him, but as she'd gotten to know him she discovered that dry wit her friend had described._

" _I know that but– Are you absolutely certain they're married? Maybe you didn't hear right."_

" _From Mrs. Hart's lips to Leslie's ears. Believe me, I heard every word she said," the piano player calmly insisted. "And a few she didn't," he added. He leaned with his back against the wall and crossed one ankle over the other as he used the telephone at the bar. Bartender Charlie O'Brien eavesdropped with a big grin on his face and gave his head a shake when Emmett rolled his eyes._

" _I've no doubt she's not taking it very well."_

" _She's not a very happy camper right now," Emmett agreed, laughter coloring his voice._

" _Good heavens, Edie and I have been friends since we were five years old!" June sighed with more dramatics than Emmett thought was necessary and he bit his lip to keep from chuckling. "We sat right next to each other in the first grade. And the second grade and– Oh, Emmett, I just can't believe she wouldn't have told someone, even if it wasn't me. To think they'd go off and get married without any family or friends... Maybe Sheila knows something!" If anyone knew anything about anything among Edie Hart's small group of girlfriends it would be Sheila Bell._

* * *

Approaching footsteps and the sound of Emmett's voice brought June out of her reverie. She hoped Sheila hadn't noticed her absentmindedness and kept her fingers crossed that Emmett might see the problem of the table decorations through clearer eyes, as her brain was becoming more and more befuddled. Unfortunately he didn't seem to comprehend why the color of the tablecloths mattered. Men!

"I had a thought and telephoned Mother. Apparently she still has a supply of those red and white checked table covers she liked so much, she said they were at the cleaners when the club burned down." Emmett's toothy smile indicated a fond reminiscence for the older woman and her club that had been destroyed almost exactly a year ago now. "Since Mother's was where Edie and Pete met she thinks it might be a nice touch to use them. I told her I'd pick them up in the morning. I took a chance and asked her whether she might have heard anything from them today and she said not a peep – and why on earth should they want to call her or anyone else for that matter if they're supposedly on a honeymoon, she wanted to know – so I guess we're still looking at them being home sometime tomorrow."

"That's a swell idea, Emmett," June said, giving his arm a quick squeeze. "They can be changed out first thing tomorrow, we'll have more than enough time. The carnations and daisies we ordered from Ashley Florist for the centerpieces will complement the covers perfectly. And the banner is supposed to be white with red lettering." She nudged Sheila. "Why didn't we think of that?"

"Honestly?" the other girl laughed. Sheila Bell, a pretty brunette with a slightly plump but well-rounded figure, had met Edie Hart several years before the girl singer had been hired by Mother, back when she was still working in the line at the Salem. The blonde had come into the dress shop where Sheila worked and they'd become fast friends. "The only thing _my_ tired little brain has been able to think about is how shocked I was when you phoned the other night to tell me they were married! You could have knocked me over with a feather!"

* * *

 _Releasing an upward breath that blew her dark bangs out of her eyes, Sheila Bell pulled the corners of her son's diaper together and slid the pin with the yellow duck-shaped safety closure through the soft material. She made certain everything was secure, then released an exasperated sigh as the telephone rang. Who on earth would be calling at a quarter til ten on a Friday night? She rolled her eyes. Probably her mother, who would without a doubt insist she absolutely must come over if she found out Danny had been called out on an emergency plumbing job. A brief desire not to answer entered her mind but didn't stay long. Instead she crossed her fingers and told herself not to let it slip she was home alone with seven month old Adam and then snatched up the receiver before the sound set the little boy off on a crying jag. When she said hello the voice of her friend June Holton responded from the other end of the line._

" _Have you talked to Edie recently?" June pushed at her glasses, a habit she'd had since she'd started wearing them in second grade after Mrs. Poplin discovered she couldn't read the board even from the front row. Edie had teased her as little friends do and June had found it oh so sweet to return the favor some twenty-plus years later when Edie got her first pair. As luck would have it her friend only wore them to read while she herself had to wear them to see anything beyond ten feet clearly._

" _Well hello to you, too!" Sheila responded with friendly sarcasm while dropping wearily onto the sofa and listening with a smile as June apologized and hoped she hadn't called at a bad time or interrupted anything important."Oh sweetie, these days there's no such thing as a good time," she groaned. "Now what's this about Edie?"_

" _When was the last time you talked to her?"_

" _Umm..." Sheila's head dropped to the sofa back and she squinted at the ceiling as she tried to think. "Monday afternoon? She came into the shop for a fitting and we talked for a while. Then she said she needed to run to the pet shop up the street before it closed to pick up dog food. Did you know she and Pete have a puppy? A dachshund she said. Someone abandoned it in the cloak room at he supper club. Can you imagine that?"_

" _Did you know she and Pete got married?" June blurted. She heard her friend snicker._

" _Oh? Well I guess that would explain that herd of pigs I saw flying over the house this morning!" Sheila joked, her ensuing laugh almost hysterical. "You are just too funny! April Fool's Day was two and a half months ago. Try again, sweetie."_

" _Emmett said they got married this afternoon."_

" _Oh honey, if Edie Hart and that hunk of a man of hers got married we'd –"_

" _They eloped," June interrupted. "At least that's what Edie's mother told Leslie. And to Connecticut of all places!"_

" _Her mother?" That bit of information put things in a whole different light._

" _Emmett had to get back to work before he could tell me everything but he's supposed to call me back next chance he gets, which should be in a few minutes. I thought you might have time to call Lauren. Maybe Eric knows something."_

* * *

Leslie's all-seeing brown gaze swept from one end of the supper club to the other, two little vertical lines forming at the bridge of his nose as he watched the goings-on. The dining tables had been rearranged into an uneven circle around the periphery of the main room and buffet bars were neatly set up near the veranda doors. A congratulatory banner had been ordered and would be hung from the far wall, courtesy of Mr. Gunn's odd beatnik friend Wilbur, who knew a man who knew a man who owned a sign shop and expedited the order due to some odd connection to another man who was in some way acquainted with Mr. Gunn. A promised delivery time of mid-morning tomorrow would afford plenty of time to hang it in just the right spot so that everyone entering the establishment would take immediate notice.

Releasing a world-weary sigh and returning to more mundane tasks, Leslie's gaze fell on the reservation book, his mind calculating when they'd need to begin returning things to their proper state in order to serve the overabundance of people who'd evidently decided that tomorrow night was their night. He supposed today being Father's Day might have something to do with it, the holiday always falling on a Sunday meant Monday might be their first opportunity to celebrate with a night on the town. He glanced up as a shadow fell across the maitre d' station, eyebrows raising in good-natured humor at the sight of a tall red-haired physician.

"Ah, Doctor Martin." Leslie made a notation on the left-hand page of the book and then set his pen aside. Deep dimples etched his cheeks and his eyes danced with mischief as he smiled at the pediatrician. "I hear you spoke with the elder Mr. Gunn Friday evening. If I had to hazard a guess I'd say your conversation couldn't have been anywhere near as entertaining as the one I had with Mrs. Hart."

* * *

 _Familiar footsteps on waxed linoleum had Lauren Taylor glancing up from her intense concentration on the spoon she was using to make slow circles in her coffee. She smiled and lifted the lid from a bright yellow sugar bowl, adding some of the confection to the dark liquid as Eric Martin dropped into the hard straight-backed chair on the opposite side of the small cafeteria table._

" _So tell me what it is that's gotten you into such a dander that you had to come running to the hospital at this hour of the night to talk to me," the tall red-haired doctor said with a broad grin. He never wearied of looking into the cheerful green eyes of his girl. It was especially pleasant considering he could do it more often now that she'd transferred to St. Francis Hospital as chief surgery nurse. Since their work hours were basically identical – or as close as they could get taking into account the vagaries of the medical profession – that also translated into more time together off the job. His life had never been so good._

 _The pretty auburn-haired nurse startled Eric from his reverie when she tossed the spoon to the table with a clatter that had several heads turning to look in their direction. Her untouched coffee splashed over the rim of the white stoneware cup as she pushed it out of the way, placed her forearms on the table and leaned toward him._

" _Maybe **you** can tell **me**!"_

" _Umm... What?" The doctor scratched his head, a perplexed frown knitting his brow._

" _I had a very interesting conversation with Sheila Bell just about half an hour ago."_

 _Eric tried not to roll his eyes, but if the expression on her face was anything to go by he had the feeling Lauren could see him do it anyway. He liked Sheila Bell. He really did. She was one of the small group of women his girlfriend counted as her good friends – a group that also included June Holton, Lynn Martel and Edie Hart, his best friend Pete Gunn's girl. He would be forever beholden to Edie for introducing him to Lauren. As for Sheila, well, that girl was a real doozy. Quite the opposite of her quiet husband Danny._

" _Umm... Huh." Words just weren't coming to him. This was his monthly Friday night on call – something not even pediatricians were exempt from – and though the night was still relatively young he'd been run ragged already. He presumed he was supposed to ask about this interesting conversation between Lauren and Sheila so he did, garnering a disgusted sigh from the pretty woman sitting opposite him._

" _Who's your best friend?"_

 _Where did that come from? And was he supposed to answer that she was his best friend? Wasn't that the way it was supposed to be? The person you loved and looked forward to spending the rest of your life with was your best friend? From the way this conversation was going though Eric decided she probably wasn't speaking in those terms. Something was quite obviously on her mind and when the moment was right she'd let him in on the secret._

" _Uh..." There he went again, fumbling for words. "Pete?"_

" _And how long has he been your best friend?"_

" _Since college." Apparently he'd given the correct answer. In his mind's eye he wiped an imaginary drop of sweat from his brow._

" _And don't people who've been best friends for that long tell each other the important things that are going on in their lives?" the woman continued. "Things like, oh, I don't know. A new job, a promotion, falling in love, getting engaged? Marriage?" She placed an emphasis on that final word that she hoped would get a point across._

" _I suppose." He figured that was more of a woman best friend thing than a man best friend thing but he refrained from stating such an opinion. Besides which he didn't know what any of that might have to do with him and Pete, they'd played a quick round of golf together the middle of the previous week and had caught up on everything that had been happening with each other. Or so he thought. Was there anything they hadn't discussed either casually or seriously? Eric shook his head. Even if there had been why would it necessitate a telephone call from Sheila to Lauren? Then again it was funny the way the minds of women worked._

" _Then why didn't he tell you they were getting married?"_

" _Who?" the pediatrician asked muzzily._

" _Pete and Edie! That's who!" Lauren retrieved her spoon and gave her coffee a vicious stir. What was it about men that they couldn't keep their thoughts on one topic at a time? She supposed his mind was on one of the emergency patients he'd seen this evening. Oh well, that's what she got for falling for a doctor._

" _What's to tell?" The handsome physician shrugged and shoved his fingers through the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead, offering up a confused frown. "Everyone knows they'll get married sooner if not later."_

" _They got married this afternoon."_

" _Says who?" Eric's eyebrows crawled up his forehead._

" _Well– Sheila told me." Lauren held up a hand to forestall the comment she knew was coming before it had an opportunity to pass his lips. "I know what you're going to say and I agree Sheila can get carried away – " she gave him a stern look, " – and don't you dare say what you're thinking – but she's Edie's best friend and if anybody knows what's going on with her Sheila does."_

" _So Sheila actually talked to her?"_

" _No... Sheila heard it from June," she admitted. "Who heard it from Emmett."_

 _Lauren sighed and finally took a sip of her coffee and immediately wished she hadn't. It was cold and bitter. She pushed the cup aside and proceeded to relate the facts as she knew them, her words leaving Eric shaking his head. She watched bemusedly as after several minutes of thoughtful silence he rose and stepped over to the hospital-green telephone which took up residence on the wall beside the beverage machine. He lifted the receiver to his ear and began dialing a number, dropping it back into place without completing the call as Lauren shook her head at him._

" _If you're calling their apartment you'll only get forwarded to Pete's answering service. I've phoned twice already, once after I talked to Sheila and again just a few minutes ago. I think the lady at the service thought I was crazy, calling and never leaving a message. She did tell me though that according to Mr. Gunn he would be unavailable until Monday evening."_

 _The tall redhead pulled his wallet from his back pocket and thumbed through it for a folded piece of paper, lifted the receiver a second time and dialed the operator, reciting a number and asking to have the call charged to his home phone before returning the paper and his wallet to their rightful places. Leaning a shoulder against the wall, his eyes twinkling as he met his girlfriend's curious gaze, Eric listened to the intermittent tinny ring of a telephone almost drowned out by the humming buzz along the line._

" _If they told Edie's parents..." Eric gave a smirk and a wink, "...then they told Pete's dad."_

* * *

Eric Martin laughed even as his gaze followed the activity going on around them, Frank Gunn's gruff voice still ringing in his ears from two nights before. No, he highly doubted his fifteen minute talk with Pete's father had been anywhere near as riveting as Leslie's chat with Mary Grace Hart had been. He'd yet to meet Pete's mother-in-law... Ha! Peter Gunn had a mother-in-law. Eric laughed again, bringing a look of good-humored inquiry from the tall dark-haired man standing behind the maitre d' station. Leslie's eyes smiled with bland amusement, though he managed to refrain from making any comment, when the physician related the reason for his sudden whimsy.

"Mr. Gunn was happy to find out he wasn't the only person not invited to the wedding." Eric's mouth twisted in a smile of lingering amusement. "Though the language he used in admitting that was a bit more salty than I care to repeat." He itched to pass along the tale told by his friend's father concerning telegrams and cigars but controlled himself. It was one thing to share news, another to be known as a gossip. "He did mention they're supposed to be home tomorrow, like Mother told Emmett."

Catching sight of Lauren wandering from the direction of the kitchen, with friend Lynn Martel at her side, Eric waved and hooked a thumb toward the entrance indicating he'd take them both home if they were ready to go. He gave Leslie another glance.

"Have you figured out how to get them here without spoiling the surprise?"

Leslie merely offered a smug grin and returned his attention to his reservation book.

* * *

Soufflé the dachshund smiled a dachshund smile and grabbed at the last little bit of steak handed to him by Peter Gunn, eyes round with jealousy as he saw the same trifle offered to the ginger cat sitting on the floor just beyond the fireplace hearth. At the sound of the door buzzer his floppy ears perked and his round almost-black eyes grew even rounder and he quickly bounced on short legs after Edie, who was heading in the direction of the kitchen to grab dessert from the icebox.

"I'll get the door," Pete said, getting up from his comfortable position on the floor. With the first day of summer being just a few days away naturally the fireplace wasn't lit, but casual meals in front of it had become a custom they enjoyed. Shared time and intimate conversation often led to opportunities for even more enjoyable activities, opportunities they couldn't let go to waste.

Upon emerging from the little kitchen, two small bowls of Sealtest Cherry Nugget ice cream balanced precariously in one hand and two soon-to-be-filled coffee mugs in the other, Edie found Pete standing in the middle of the living room clutching a tremendous bouquet of flowers – a mixture of long-stemmed white and pink roses, carnations in the same hues, along with bluebells nestled among white daisies and baby's breath.

"Oh, Pete – " she haphazardly set everything down on the coffee bar and hurried toward her husband, touching the roses with gentle fingers, " – you shouldn't have!"

"I didn't."

"Who did?"

"I don't know," the PI chuckled, picking a small white envelope with Edie's name on it from among the flowers and handing it to her. "You know how I hate opening your mail, I run across the strangest things."

Being the exceptional private investigator he was, Pete noticed the name on the envelope said Edie Gunn and not Edie Hart. From the sudden brilliance of her smile his new bride apparently did too.

"And on a Sunday. What florist delivers flowers on a Sunday?"

"Jimmy Ashley brought them over. He said Rupert told him it was a personal favor for a friend." He watched Edie slip her finger beneath the flap of the envelope to open it, his careful gaze on her face as her eyes moved over the words. She read the note through at least twice, the expression on her face shifting from eye roll to grin to smirk. She finally extended the small sheet of light blue paper to him with a tremulous smile, gathered the bouquet from his hands and quietly went in search of a vase. Pete followed her with his gaze until she disappeared into the kitchen and then he turned his attention to the note.

" _A little birdie told me you were home. Don't blame her, she promised she wouldn't sing to anyone else. Best Father's Day gift ever. Tell your husband the fly rod ranks a distant second to having such a wonderful daughter. He's a very lucky man and I count myself that as well. I'll await your call. Congratulations to you both. I love you. Pop."_

* * *

 _(Referenced Episodes: Pete helps Edie's good friend June Holton after she witnesses a murder in "The February Girl" S1 EP30; Edie's friend Lynn Martel appears in "Lynn's Blues" S1 EP7.)_


	10. The Beginning in the End

**Peter Gunn, Edie Hart and other characters from the original series unfortunately don't belong to me, nor do I make any financial gain from this story. But that doesn't mean I can't play with the characters and make them do what I want them to do. Most of the time. If I ask nicely. Actually they usually just do what they want and rarely listen to me.**

 _Thank you to everyone who has read this story and especially to those who have taken the time to comment, make suggestions or give a review. You are all most appreciated. Beginning a story is the easy part, filling it in takes a little more thought, and endings are forever the hard part. I hope the ending to this one is enjoyable to those who read it, especially with the knowledge that as one story ends another will begin._

 **That's a Sneaky Way to Propose**

 **Chapter 10: The Beginning in the End**

Emitting a pleased sigh at a task completed, Peter Gunn wiped the last supper dish dry and reached to place it in its appointed spot in the upper cabinet to the right of the sink. His fingers lingered and he tilted the small dessert bowl so he could see the design that adorned the inside. Blue, pink and yellow flowers in light shades wrapped around the rim of the small dish, one of a set of four that Mama Hart bought for Edie that time she'd come to stay with her for two weeks – two extremely _long_ weeks to Pete's way of thinking – after Edie had been shot by one of Max Grayco's thugs. It had been just over two years now since that day but it was etched in Pete's mind like it was just yesterday – the fear and worry in Mother's voice when he answered her call, his mad rush to City Hospital that had him breaking every driving law on the books, Edie's face even whiter than the pillowcase as he sat in the chair beside her bed waiting for her to wake up. He could have lost her that day, something he tried not to dwell on but that came unbidden to the forefront of his mind whenever he saw those bowls or the hot pads or placemats or tea towels that Mrs. Hart had also provided her daughter at the time, needed or not.

Pete shut the cabinet door and hung the dish towel neatly around the long handle of the shiny white Hotpoint wall oven and went to stand beside the coffee bar, watching Edie as she talked on the telephone with Pop. She had on a pair of black-and-white checked cotton capri pants that hugged her figure and a white short-sleeved blouse with those big buttons she liked, her hair was loose to her shoulders and her feet were bare, toenails sporting a hint of light pink polish. Sitting sideways on the sofa, she rested with her back against one of its arms, knees drawn up, the receiver tight against her ear as she laughed delightedly at something Frank Gunn said. She met the PI's eyes and smiled a smile that he quickly returned. He'd managed to get her to wait to call his dad until after they'd finished with their ice cream and coffee, reminding her it was an hour earlier where Pop was, and now the two of them had been on the phone together for at least half an hour, Pete not having exchanged a word with the older man. But that was okay. He loved the fact that his girl – his wife! – and his father got along so well.

He picked up one of Edie's socks from the floor where one of the animals had apparently dragged it and tossed it on a chair next to its mate then made himself comfortable on the sofa next to his wife. She twisted around so they sat shoulder to shoulder, thigh against thigh, and made an exasperated face as Pete inclined his head toward hers and pretended to listen in on what his dad was saying on the other end of the line, his own expression a comical mix of resigned good humor.

"I think Pete wants to talk to you," the blonde informed her father-in-law. She laughed at something Frank Gunn said. "It's easy, he's pouting." With a teasing wrinkle of her nose at her husband she passed him the receiver.

"Hi, Pop."

" _Finally finished with those dishes?"_ Pete easily pictured the amused smirk evident in his father's tone. _"My new daughter-in-law appears to be training you right. A husband needs to do his part around the house. Make sure you remember that and the two of you will get along just fine."_

"Very funny."

" _Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Daughter-in-law. I kind of like the sound of it myself."_ Frank Gunn gave a chuckle reminiscent of his son's own laugh. _"Do you know how long I've been waiting to say that? And I guarantee I'll be using the word every chance I get to anyone who'll listen.""_

Several seconds of amiable silence followed before the elder Gunn spoke again.

" _You did good, son."_ Pop heaved a forgiving sigh. _"Even if you did take your own sweet time about it. That girl is a real keeper."_

"Thanks, Pop." Pete's arm crept around his wife's shoulders and he pulled her closer. "I have a sneaky suspicion you could be right about that," he concurred with a smile.

" _I know you don't need any shining pearls of wisdom from some old fogie like me so I won't offer any. I'll just say, be happy."_ Frank's voice held an affectionate smile as he spoke. _"The girl makes you happy. There's no hiding how relaxed and at peace you are when you're with her. I like that, it looks good on you. She's a mighty fine antidote for that serious manner of yours, a person would have to be blind not to see it. And I know you make her happy. Edie told me that once. 'He makes me happy' she said. In just those words. Did you know that?"_

"Which part?" Pete's arm tightened around Edie, his lips tilting in a smile. "That I do or that she told you?" Edie's fingers found his chin, turning his face so she could see his expression, a curious frown lighting her eyes. She gave a roll of those same eyes when he leaned in to drop a kiss on her nose.

" _It was the summer before last, when you went missing and then spent all those days in the hospital. She called me and I got the next plane out. When I finally found my way to the hospital – after a wild ride with Mother, Barney and Emmett that I'll never forget and will tell you about sometime – I know she thought I was going to rake her over the coals for waiting so long to pick up the telephone and call me. Even if I'd planned to I wouldn't have had the heart after I found her sitting beside your bed asleep on that hard hospital chair. Instead we had a pleasant … er ... one-sided conversation."_

Frank gave a whimsical chuckle at the memory and wondered whether Edie had shared with Pete any of the details of their first meeting. He would have to ask Pete about that sometime, just out of curiosity, but not today.

" _But that's neither here nor there. Remember the morning I showed Edie how to make your Grandma Ross's breakfast biscuits? We had a nice long chat about this and that and the other–"_ He restrained himself from mentioning Edie's anecdote about Mama and Papa Hart arriving unexpectedly and finding Pete in her kitchen wearing nothing but his boxers, he'd save that for some other time. It might come in handy, he thought with an inward grin. _"I asked her a question, can't even remember exactly what it was, but I remember her answer – 'He makes me happy.'"_

"Thanks, Pop," Pete eventually got out, his voice thick with emotion. "I like to think I do that... but it's nice to hear she thinks so too." He winked at Edie as she presented him with another curious look.

" _Keep making her happy, son. Love her as hard as you can and make sure she knows just how much you do love her. Life is short, we might think we have forever to make sure someone knows how we feel, but we don't. Between work and kids and family and friends and everything else that happens in life the time flies by. Just be sure she knows, every chance you get. You never know when it might be for the last time."_

"I will," the younger man promised.

" _Anyway..."_ Frank Gunn cleared his throat. _"Congratulations. I'm happy for both of you – even though you neglected to invite your very own father to your wedding or even give me a heads-up. I would have understood if you had decided to elope in order to not get caught up in a big wedding,"_ he confessed and then paused momentarily, deliberating whether to continue. _"But son, not even a honeymoon? It wouldn't hurt you to take some time off and a honeymoon sounds like a pretty good excuse."_

"Careful, Pop," Pete smiled. "You're beginning to sound like Edie's Mama."

" _So you did tell them? What did Joe and Mary Grace have to say?"_

"You spent the last half hour gabbing with Edie and that topic never came up?" The PI couldn't help but chuckle. "What exactly did you spend all that time discussing?"

" _That's for me to know and you to find out,"_ the older man kindly retorted.

"It went about as well as could be expected. Joe offered his congratulations and Mama's hoping for a quick divorce." Pete feigned injury as Edie poked him in the ribs none too gently. "Sometimes I get the impression that woman doesn't like me," he complained, eliciting a laugh from his dad.

" _Well I for one am happy, it was about time you made me a father-in-law! I just hope you don't plan taking quite as long in making me a grandpa."_ He chuckled and there was a smile in his voice as he changed gears. " _By the way, Edie says you'll be sending along some pictures. Make sure I get a few wallet-size. Or better yet just send me the negatives and I'll have a bunch developed myself."_

"A bunch? Exactly how many wallets do you have?"

" _Don't be a smart aleck, son,"_ Frank chided.

"Oh, Pete – Look at the time!" Edie disentangled herself from Pete and the sofa, leaned in and pulled the receiver far enough away from the PI's ear to say a quick "Goodbye, I love you" to Pop and hurried toward the bedroom, halfway up the stairs calling down to her husband that he needed to hurry and change clothes too or they'd be late.

" _I guess that's my cue,"_ the elder Gunn laughed. _"Edie mentioned earlier that you're going to some sort of concert?"_

"Not really a concert, Pop. It's called Music After Dark, something the city started over at River Run Park to highlight local musicians. A group of guys who occasionally filled in for the combo at Mother's will be playing so we decided to go over. We'll take along a blanket and a thermos of coffee and enjoy the sounds."

Pete replaced the receiver after the men said their goodbyes, Edie coming back down the stairs, her capris exchanged for comfortable blue cotton slacks and a lightweight sweater draped over the shoulders of her white cotton blouse. The park was cooled by the breeze that constantly drifted across the big river it was named for, especially at this time of the evening and during the early morning hours, making a sweater almost mandatory even in the middle of summer.

"Hurry up and change clothes, honey," the blonde urged again, locating the red and tan checked thermos in a kitchen cabinet and filling it with the remainder of the coffee from dinner.

"Why are you in such a hurry? We have plenty of time." He glanced down at his striped shirt, dark blue sweater vest and dark gray slacks. "I think I'm dressed fine for a night at the park."

"I don't want to be out too late. Just put your shoes on so we can go." Her voice floated back to him as she went to the laundry room and pulled a quilt down from the top shelf.

"Why not?" Pete toed on his shoes, found his wallet and keys and grabbed the thermos.

"Because until tomorrow comes we're still on our honeymoon," she said, offering up an arch glance and a saucy smile as he allowed her to precede him out the apartment door. "We shouldn't stay out so late that by the time we get home we don't have energy left for other activities."

"You have a one track mind."

"You have no idea."

* * *

Edie climbed from the car and slammed the door behind herself even before Pete turned the ignition key to shut off the engine. The PI caught up with her as she rounded the big hood of the Plymouth, hands grasping her forearms to halt her progress. He'd parked the Fury in his semi-regular spot at the corner so they could enter the supper club through the kitchen door leading from the adjacent alley.

"Rats?! How on earth could we have rats? I still don't believe it. Why would _anyone_ call the Public Health Inspector and report they saw a rat on the veranda?"

"Calm down, honey. You know how personally Leslie takes these things. I'm sure it's not half as bad as he made it out to be."

The maitre d' had been the final person on a long list of messages when the PI had given himself permission to call his answering service Monday morning after a breakfast so late it bordered on brunch. Edie had kindly suggested he take the puppy for his morning constitutional – "Don't hurry, give him some time to get more acquainted with the park," she'd told him – while she scrambled up some eggs. He'd returned not only to eggs and bacon but to the biscuits Pop had reminded him of the previous evening. Edie had taken to heart the older man's words of two summers ago – that the recipe was secret to the daughters in Pete's mother's family, the men only got to enjoy the finished product – so any time she made them he was shooed out of the kitchen so the special ingredients remained a mystery or she made them as a surprise that he woke up to.

Leslie's message had been preceded by three from Mama Hart – Three? Really? The woman had made no mention of that when Edie had answered her call late Saturday morning. "Please have Miss Hart call her mother," the girl – Dottie – at the Toomey Answering Service had relayed to him. Or he himself could call, according to the first message Mary Grace Hart had left. Edie had wondered at the snort he'd inadvertently released at that but thankfully hadn't asked. A Mr. Pomeroy had called, apparently a representative of the local branch of a well-known insurance company, and would Mr. Gunn please return his call as soon as convenient. A message from Rudy Becker told Pete his new suit was tailored and ready to be picked up. Lieutenant Jacoby had phoned twice, once on Thursday evening and again on Friday morning, both times asking him to call back, the second time adding that he could do so "at your convenience should you find time in your busy schedule". Pete could hear Jacoby's droll sarcasm even through the girl's innocent reading of the message over the phone. Bobby Mayfield wanted him to know the clasp of Edie's necklace had been fixed and it was ready to be picked up or he'd be glad to drop it by the club.

And finally there was Leslie, who according to the time of the message had apparently been at the other end of the call he and Edie hadn't answered yesterday evening before having dinner and phoning Pop and listening to music at the park. Leslie requested that Miss Hart call as soon as possible upon her return home, it was important that he speak with her personally, but she shouldn't overly concern herself as he could take care of the matter himself if absolutely necessary. Which wording naturally inspired her to phone him immediately and was the reason she and Pete were now standing in an alley discussing rats.

"I'm not exactly taking it _im_ personally myself!" the blonde fumed.

"You're so pretty when you're angry," Pete chuckled, his arms snaking around her waist to pull her against his chest.

"Don't change the subject – mmph... mmm... Pete!" Her hands pushed weakly against the man's shoulders but she found it quite useless to resist his kiss, succumbing instead to the brief diversion. Then slipping Pete's keys out of his hand as he pulled them from his pants pocket, the blonde picked out the correct one and allowed the PI to push the door open and usher her inside.

"Hello, Jean Paul." Edie smiled brightly at the slight man busily punching dough at the work table and watched as he reached up to straighten the slightly askew toque resting atop his graying hair.

"Madame...–oiselle." The chef quickly caught himself, coughed into his fist and roughly cleared his throat. "My apologies, mademoiselle." He waved his hand breezily in the air and gestured as only a Frenchman could.

Casually buttoning his charcoal gray suit jacket and shoving his left hand into his pants pocket, Pete fixed the chef with a speculative gaze.

"You all right there, Jean Paul?"

"A tickle of the throat. The flour, you understand." The man offered another cough that seemed somewhat exaggerated and with another all-embracing motion of his hand called attention to the various desserts he was personally concocting in the area beside the big ovens. "Fresh pastries and bread for this evening."

"Mmhmm" the PI hummed, lifting a broken corner of brioche and taking a small bite.

"Is Leslie here?" Edie wanted to know.

"Yes, mademoiselle. He and –… He and another gentleman just stepped out. Monsieur Leslie was showing the gentleman... some _thing_ ," he shrugged and turned to pull open an oven door, quickly sliding out a rack of small, aromatic breads. "I paid no attention."

"Why are you baking so early? It's still several hours before you usually start."

"Ah!" The chef flung a hand holding a spatula into the air and spun to face the pair. "The display case you ordered arrived on Saturday. Monsieur Leslie already has installed it in it's place and we will use it tonight for the first time. Some of these..." he shrugged once again, waving a hand toward the obvious desserts as well as in the direction of the big refrigerator and several cake keepers, "...some of these will be featured for our patrons."

"Display case?" Pete rubbed his hands together to dispel cookie crumbs and offered his wife a narrow-eyed look of curiosity.

"Oh, Pete! Isn't that exciting? We'll be able to show off all of Jean Paul's wonderful pies and cakes for our guests to buy and take home with them." Edie smiled delightedly and ignored his look. "Leslie suggested it a few weeks ago. Don't you remember? I told you about it."

"If you say so," the PI answered back with a resigned smile.

"I hope you've made some of your chocolate mousse pie – " Edie stepped toward the big refrigerator only to have Jean Paul insinuate himself between her and the appliance, his spatula at attention.

"But of course! It _is_ one of the house specialties." The chef shrugged, putting his fingers to his mouth and then opening them up in an expression that emphasized the delicious quality of the dessert Edie mentioned. "But it must... – It must _cure_ , you understand. To open the refrigerator door and expose it to warm air is the same as to open the oven door when baking a soufflé. It could be ruined!"

"Oh, there you are!" Leslie seized that moment to appear seemingly from nowhere, one of his many curious talents, looking appropriately handsome in a black suit and tie, the ubiquitous white carnation adorning his left lapel. Always the natty dresser was Leslie, ever the genteel man hours before the doors of the supper club opened. "Mr. Gunn," he nodded genially.

"Leslie."

"I dare say you two must be tired after driving back from – … well, wherever it was you went." The maitre d's lips puckered in a semblance of regret. "And I apologize profusely for asking you to come down on such short notice or even at all. I would have been more than happy to have personally attended to the matter and also to hold down the fort for another day or so." His twinkling brown gaze darted back and forth between Edie and Pete.

"That's quite all right, Leslie. We had a few errands to run anyway," the PI admitted.

"Well..." Leslie made a beckoning motion with his hand even as he swung open one half of the double door into the short hallway leading from the kitchen do the dining area. "In that case I suppose we might as well get this over with," he said, offering a rueful smile as the other two preceded him.

"Why is it so dark in here? I thought you said the man from – "

"I'm afraid, Mr. Gunn, that a picture is worth a thousand words." Leslie's voice floated across the deep shadows that surrounded them. "A gentleman in your line of business is undoubtedly aware of the manner in which sinister creatures of the night – whether man or beast – scatter when the light shines upon them?"

"Oh, Leslie," Edie murmured disconsolately. "Please tell me it isn't true." She reached to grab Pete's hand and received a comforting squeeze in response.

"I'm afraid so, Miss Hart." Leslie's eyebrows tilted in compassion. "It's amazing the type that crawls out under the cover of darkness. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Gunn?"

"Couldn't have said it better myself, Leslie." He gave a curious glance at the dark-haired man as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. "You make it sound like we've been overrun. You told Edie it was one rat on the veranda."

"Such vermin do tend to multiply, Mr. Gunn." Pete could almost swear that was a smirk he saw on Leslie's face but decided it must be a trick of the lighting, or lack of it, as the trio paused at the entrance to the dining room. "And then each invites his relatives and friends and before you know it you have an entire room full of them."

The maitre d' hesitated with his finger on the light switch.

"I'd suggest you direct your attention to the far side of the room."

Pete heard Edie heave a sigh and he gave her fingers, wrapped within his, another gentle squeeze. She undoubtedly gave a roll of her eyes too, but he refrained from glancing in her direction, knowing that look without having to see it. He did give a silent laugh as she involuntarily backed up a step and sidled halfway behind him when Leslie flipped on the dining room lights.

The PI ran a hand over his hair, letting it come to a slow rest against the back of his neck as his gaze was immediately greeted by a big sign hanging high upon the opposite wall, the bold red letters against the white background proudly proclaiming _Congratulations Pete and Edie_ for all the world to see. His eyes slid sideways, catching Leslie's amused expression, then turned front and center again as a small crowd of people milled in from the veranda with loud clapping and a few low whistles, the smiling faces of their closest friends filling the room.

"It would appear felicitations are in order, Mr. Gunn." The maitre d' clasped his hands loosely behind his back, his dimpled smile and laughing brown eyes traveling to Edie as he tilted his body sideways to look at her over Pete's shoulder. "And _Mrs_. Gunn."

Pete looked at his wife, who was suddenly beside him rather than hunkered down behind his shoulder ready either to do battle or to run at the first sight of a furry rodent. His own lips tilted at the sight of the smile gracing her face, one of those sunny grins that made his heart want to jump out of his chest because he loved her so much.

"How – ?"

"Your mother called," Leslie said with an almost straight face.

" _And_ called," Emmett Ward echoed with a cheesy smile.

"And called!" Suddenly there was her cousin Peggy McKay, who lived with her husband on a small ranch about forty miles away, pulling her into a tight hug. "I'd barely crawled into bed Friday night when the phone rang. Tommy answered and when he said it was your mother all I could think was that something bad must have happened to make her call at that hour." The almost-brunette released Edie and gave a warm laugh. "I certainly wasn't expecting her to start grilling me about the two of you," she continued, leaning in to give Pete a kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, Peggy. Honey, I'm _so_ sorry," Edie said, dismayed yet unable to completely contain a long-suffering smile which her cousin returned in a like manner. The other woman was all too aware of Mary Grace Hart's eccentricities. "And you too, Leslie. My mother... – " She paused at the droll glance Pete directed her way. "My mother sometimes tends to get carried away with herself."

"Sometimes," the PI echoed facetious agreement.

"No need. It was all quite... – enlightening." He nailed Pete with a look the PI couldn't quite decipher.

"So whose great idea was it to run off and get married?" Eric Martin demanded with a grin and hard clap on the back for his best friend.

"I asked and strangely enough she said yes," Pete confessed. "But I can't take credit for the rest of it."

"Just went along for the ride like a good boy, did you?" Eric leaned in and lowered his voice. "You do know you're setting a terrible example for the rest of us," the tall redhead teased. "Not to mention the great bachelor party you missed out on."

A whir and a bustle and the almost noiseless sound of small well-oiled wheels brought Jean Paul pushing past them from the short hallway, a festively decorated serving cart preceding him. The group of twenty or so friends gathered round, effortlessly encircling Edie and Pete as the chef slipped the lid from a sizable aluminum cake keeper. Another round of applause and loud whistles heralded the appearance of a large three-layer cake lavishly anointed with cream-colored icing.

"It was the best I could do on such short notice," Jean Paul sternly said, his brown eyes frowning at Leslie but twinkling as they landed on Edie. He handed her a cake knife and blushed a bright pink as the blonde leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"It's beautiful Jean Paul," Edie smiled warmly. The script rounding the top of the cake read the same as the banner on the wall but with the names transposed. _Congratulations Edie and Pete._ Wording along the bottom spelled out _It's About Time_ , which caused the woman's smile to widen. But it was the cake topper that had her clapping a hand to her mouth and shaking with laughter as she glanced up to catch Pete's gaze. Her laughter became almost uncontrollable at the expression on her husband's face.

* * *

Edie methodically arranged the Scrabble tiles on the little wooden game rack she'd brought upstairs and placed on the nightstand, a soft smile curving her lips as she ran a finger along their top edges. She placed the cake topper next to the tiles and the smile became a grin and a chuckle as she admired her handiwork. Leaning back against the pillow she'd fluffed up against the headboard, she draped her arms around pulled-up knees and looked over at her husband as he began to undress.

"We have good friends Pete."

"We do."

The PI slipped off his tie and draped it over the rack on the inside of the closet door. He pulled his shirt tails from his pants and began undoing the buttons, his eyes on his wife as he thought how pretty she looked in her light blue nightgown. The thin shoulder ties left her skin bare, waiting to be touched by his eager hands, and the front of the gown dipped just low enough to provide an easy view of the valley between her breasts yet somehow still managed to leave something to the imagination. And he definitely liked imagining.

"The ladies must have worked overtime pulling everything together."

"Leave it to Sheila, she's so good at that sort of thing," Edie smiled knowingly. "I think the only time she's never been in charge was when we gave her the baby shower. It took all the rest of us to do what she would have been able to accomplish by herself. But we did manage to surprise her."

Pete's gaze drifted to to the nightstand, the corners of his mouth tipping upward as he took off his shirt and laid it over the back of the bedroom chair. He'd add it to the dry cleaning basket to go to Soon Lee's one day this week.

"I suppose we'll have to pick up a new game the next time one of us is in Chadwicks. It took me all the Ms in the box to ask you to marry me."

"I hope it was worth the sacrifice," Edie teased, her eyes smiling into his. "Can't we just get replacement tiles? Someone must sell those, people probably lose them all the time."

"We _could_ take a picture and toss those back in the box."

"Pete!"

The man's pants followed the shirt to the chair. He pulled his undershirt over his head, stepping into the bathroom to drop it and his socks into the hamper before coming back to sit down on the side of the bed. Edie stuck a teasing finger into the waistband of his boxers, pulled and released the elastic so it snapped back into place with a little pop.

"Wasn't Mother absolutely hilarious when she told the story about accidentally giving me a sleeping pill instead of an aspirin?" The blonde chuckled gleefully. "And how you had to carry me out past all the people in the club because the back door was blocked by Mr. Schumer's delivery truck?"

"Mmm. I recall asking her at the time why she had sleeping pills in an Anacin bottle in the first place. To keep them _safe_ , she said. To make sure no one else got hold of them, she said." His lips tilted in a reminiscent grin. "Much good it did her. She forgot she'd put them there and she ended up losing her girl singer not only for that night but for the next one too. The pill gave you a rash, you were itchy all over and it seemed like every fifteen minutes I was covering you in calamine lotion."

"I looked silly, didn't I?"

"Silly..." He leaned in and gave her a kiss. "But cute." And one more kiss just because.

"I'm not sure I appreciated Lieutenant Jacoby's ball and chain comment," Edie observed after a few pleasurable minutes.

The policeman had arrived in barely enough time to fill a plate with goodies from the buffet bar before all the food totally vanished and to put away a good-sized chunk of wedding cake. But before he'd done either of those he'd given Pete's hand a shake and Edie a hug and stated his sincere congratulations in his usual droll manner. Then he'd broken the spell as he watched June Holton slide a piece of cake onto a plate. His eyes lighting on the cake topper, he'd given his PI friend a half-smile and with a straight face joked that the only thing missing from the ornament was a ball and chain.

"I'm positive you didn't. He apologized, by the way."

"If you say so." Her forehead wrinkled as she thought about the policeman. "How did he ever manage to find a Mrs. Jacoby with such a sour attitude toward marriage?"

Pete chuckled and admitted that the Lieutenant's job sometimes jaundiced him when it came to the vagaries of life, love and romance. A bad case usually magnified his attitude toward whatever circumstances it conjured up, and he had apparently been working a tough one over the past several days.

"Well, in that case maybe I'll forgive him," Edie relented with a smile.

"I'll be sure to let him know that when the opportunity arises."

"I thought Barney and Emmett were going to get into a brawl over the last of those little meatballs on the buffet bar." She snuggled into Pete's side as he moved to sit next to her, pushing the sheet down to the end of the bed because the night was warm. "Emmett was being so childish about it I wanted to give him a smack. June makes them for him all the time, it wouldn't have hurt anything if Barney had taken them all." She smiled. "Then he started telling everyone about how he introduced us and he almost sounded like he was taking credit for us getting married. I wanted to smack him even more, but I wanted to kiss him at the same time."

Pete cleared his throat suggestively and it was Edie's turn to lean in and offer a kiss – an extremely satisfying kiss to the PI's way of thinking. The woman's lips were curling into a sly grin against his even as she ended the caress. She reached across her husband to the nightstand, grabbing the cake topper and holding it carefully against her knees for both of them to see. The topper was about six inches tall and featured a woman dressed in a white wedding dress and a man attired in a black suit, the woman grabbing the man by the back of his collar as he tried to make a quick getaway.

"Pete, look! I finally caught you," Edie beamed teasingly.

The man's lips tilted in an affectionate smile, his arm slipping around her waist to bring her closer, his lips unerringly finding the warmth of that perfect spot between her neck and shoulder.

"You had me from the first moment I saw you," he murmured against the little pulse he found throbbing there.

His breath was intoxicating against her skin as he followed his words with a kiss, his mouth moving along her ear and against the curve of her cheek. He took the ornament from her hands, placed it on the nightstand and reached to turn off the lamp, rearranged the pillows and pulled her with him to lie with tangled limbs in the warm darkness. And then he proceeded to demonstrate exactly how much he loved her.

* * *

 _(Referenced Episodes: Edie is shot by Max Grayco's thug in "Vendetta" S1 EP36; Edie mentions that she has a cousin who lives on a ranch about forty miles away in "The Deadly Proposition" S2 EP25; also a bit of a shout-out to Melchy's story "Oh Mama Mia!" and a reference to my story "A Lifetime in Eight Days.)_


End file.
